


May Good Fortune Touch Your Hand

by sabretooth



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: <- non canonical too, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, Dissociation, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Homophobic Language, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Micah Bell Bashing, Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Minor Character Death, Murder, My First Work in This Fandom, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racist Language, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Slurs, Trauma, and Bill too kinda tbh, anywho. tags., come on rockstar get on that dlc, i barely remember what i stole from the game and what i made up myself anymore tbh, im pretty sure id remember graphic gay sex scenes, well. except for the sex maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 72,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28240713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabretooth/pseuds/sabretooth
Summary: After being kidnapped and tortured by the O'Driscolls, Arthur is in a rough shape both physically and mentally. While he's trying to get back onto his feet, Charles helps him a lot and the two soon start to grow closer.But with the growing threat of the Pinkertons, the uncertain future for all of them, and Dutch becoming more withdrawn and erratic, tension and mistrust sprout all over the gang.Is there a way for Arthur to keep his family together? Or has all been lost already?
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 64
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akvanaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akvanaut/gifts), [ayegay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayegay/gifts).



> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for clicking on this fic!  
> I've been working super hard on this and I'm so excited to finally post it!! 
> 
> The fic contains (or hints at) a lot of in-game scenes, so if you haven't played the game there will be spoilers for character deaths, missions, etc! 
> 
> Short note to the tags: I tagged all the main points and common triggers, but if you're unsure if something will be in it/would like more information, you can shoot me an ask on symbrock.tumblr.com for more clarification!

Arthur’s ass barely touched the surface of his cot when the shouting in the next tent started again. He buried his face in his hands for a moment and sighed, before he stood up and walked away from the noise, towards the lake. He leisurely strolled along the shoreline for a bit until he spotted Charles sitting on a rock a little further down and picked up his pace. Charles looked up when he heard Arthur walk closer and smiled at him before he turned his attention back to what he had been doing before.

It took Arthur a couple more steps before he was close enough to see what Charles was working on.

“New bow?” he asked him while he sat down on the rock next to the one Charles was sitting on.

“It’s not for me,” Charles said while he carefully wrapped a leather band around the handle. Arthur nodded, even though Charles wasn’t looking at him. They sat in silence next to each other for a while, Arthur looking out over the lake while Charles kept his eyes trained on the work in his hands.

“You look tired, Arthur,” Charles said, while he leaned over to place the bow on the ground and then picked up a set of arrows next to him and some ingredients that Arthur recognised from when Charles had shown him how to make fire arrows.

Arthur furrowed his brows. “How would you know? You’ve been looking at your bow the entire time.”

Charles turned his head so their eyes met. “Would you like me to look at you more often?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, hoping it hid how flustered the mischievous glint in Charles’ eyes made him feel. “I’m jus’ saying. How would you know if I look tired?”

“Am I wrong?” He was still looking at him, so Arthur kept his head straight, looking at the horizon across the lake.

Of course he was right. But as helpful as Charles’ perceptiveness was when they were hunting or out on a mission, it was just as bothersome outside of that when there was so much that Arthur couldn’t share with anyone.

“Why don’t you go lie down for a bit?”

Arthur sighed. “I wanted to. But, uh, Dutch and Molly are fightin’ again.”

Charles nodded understandingly, shooting a quick glance towards the camp. “They’ve been fighting a lot.”

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed and lifted his hat to rub his sweaty forehead. “Think I even preferred it back when they kept me up because they was fucking all night.”

Charles snorted. “Glad I wasn’t around for that.”

“Yeah. John and I spent a lot of nights away from camp back then.” Arthur thought back to those days almost wistfully. He wasn’t usually one to let himself get lost in the past too much, but as of late, he’d often found himself leafing backwards through his journal, looking at the sketches of their old camps. Of John, no more than sixteen, of Dutch and Hosea studying a map, planning a robbery or some such.

He blinked a few times to bring himself back into reality and saw that Charles was looking at him.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Ah.” Arthur waved off, feeling embarrassed about his nostalgia. “Just that I’m getting old.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the tension that never seemed to leave him these days, even though the motion made his injured one protest.

Charles rolled his eyes fondly. “Don’t worry. You still have a few good years left.”

Arthur chuckled before they fell silent again as Charles placed a handful of fire arrows by the bow and then fixed up the next batch in a way that Arthur had never seen before. When he finished those too, he gathered all the arrows up in one hand and picked up the bow, holding both of it out towards Arthur.

“Here,” he said casually.

Arthur looked down at Charles’ hands and then up at his face. “You made these for me?”

“You lost yours. And the bow you’re using now is no good. Especially for the amount of hunting you do with that bad shoulder of yours. This will be easier on you.”

Arthur took the gifts from Charles and stared down at them, his vision suddenly blurring from tears. He blinked them away hastily, hoping Charles hadn’t noticed.

“Thank you.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but a quick glance at Charles’ dark eyes told him he had still heard the depth of his gratitude.

“You really should lay off the hunting a little,” Charles said. “Your shoulder needs to heal more.”

“I’m no good for anything else yet. And we got a lot of mouths to feed, no?”

“We also have a lot of other men that can do the hunting,” Charles reminded him. “What if you mess your shoulder up and it won’t heal properly? That would do you no good either. Take your time. You deserve to rest.”

Arthur had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing out loud at the words. Bitterness boiled up inside of him and only when he heard the clacking of the arrows, he realised he was balling his hands to fists.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Shaking his head, Arthur sighed, forcing his hands to relax again.

“Arthur.” Charles looked at him, waiting until Arthur turned his head towards him. “How are you doing?”

Arthur had lost count over how many times he’d been asked that question ever since he was up and walking around again. Considering the shape he’d been in not too long ago when he’d escaped the O’Driscolls, he was doing fine. Which was exactly what he’d been telling everyone when they’d asked. He was doing fine.

Except that he wasn’t.

Charles’ dark eyes were looking at him imploringly when Arthur said nothing. Arthur wasn’t sure if he should just tell him what he told everyone. Of course, Charles wouldn’t believe him. Most of them probably didn’t, but if anyone was going to call him out on it, it was going to be Charles.

“Arthur?”

“I haven’t, uh, haven’t been sleeping well,” Arthur answered eventually. “Guess that’s what I get for sleeping for a week straight after coming back here, huh?” he quipped quickly, upset at how raw his voice had sounded.

“You were severely injured. Your body needed that rest to heal. – Still does,” he added with a frown.

Arthur moved his bad shoulder. “Ah, well. I’m getting there. It’ll be good as new before you know.”

Charles gave a noncommittal grunt, while looking at Arthur as if he was trying to stare inside of his head and read his thoughts. “What about your head?” he asked then.

Arthur frowned lightly and touched his temple. “That was nothing. Just a bruise.”

Charles shook his head, a smile playing around his lips for a second as he reached out and pushed Arthur’s hand away from his forehead, so he could look him in the eyes again. “How is your _mind_?”

Arthur looked down at where Charles’ hand was still touching his wrist, completely drawing a blank on all words.

“You said you’re not sleeping well?” Charles continued when Arthur remained silent.

Arthur shook his head. “It’s, um… I–” He sighed sharply and took off his hat, dropping it to the floor and running his hands through his sweat-damp hair, scratching his itchy scalp. He was long overdue for a thorough bath.

“I’m scared of the dark again, Charles,” he said then, staring down at the sandy ground, burying a random twig in it with his feet. “Scared of the dark like a little kid.” He gritted his teeth and looked up at Charles. Instead of mockery or amusement, his expression was one of genuine concern.

“It’s like– it’s like I’m right back in that damn basement,” Arthur continued, lowering his eyes again. “When it’s dark, I– it feels like I can’t breathe.” Even now, just thinking about it, he felt his chest constrict, and he clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. For a few seconds, he felt like the whole world was flipping over. He was hanging upside down from the ceiling again, more dead than alive, but then Charles placed his hand on his shoulder, fingers brushing against Arthur’s bare nape and the warmth of his palm dissipated the fog. Arthur blinked a couple of times rapidly to clear his vision.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Despite talking quietly, the sincerity in Charles’ voice made Arthur feel like his head was swimming yet again. He turned to look at Charles, and instead of the regret he’d expected, he felt relief at finally getting it out in the open instead of just mulling over it in his head.

“Y’know… even though I knew it was right of y’all not to come… I was… I was so mad. I knew you would’ve walked right into their trap, but…” Arthur swallowed dryly. “It felt like you all had left me to die alone.”

He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected from Charles. – Maybe anger? – However, it definitely hadn’t been the shame and guilt that was written on his face right now.

“I wanted to come, Arthur. I did.” He furrowed his brows and looked down at the ground. “I...”

“No, it’s–” Arthur shook his head. “Of course you shouldn’t have. I was…” He laughed, although he felt more like crying. “God, I just didn’t want to die like that.”

Arthur could feel Charles’ eyes on him, but he didn’t return the look. Instead, he looked out across the lake, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest when he saw how low the sun was hanging over the horizon.

“Arthur…” Charles said, eventually. “If there’s… If there’s anything I can do to help…”

The helplessness in Charles’ voice made Arthur feel bad, and he finally turned his head to look at him. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Charles.”

Charles nodded slowly, before he looked back towards the camp with a sigh. “It’s my turn to take watch,” he said then, sounding reluctant to leave. “But I could ask Lenny to switch.”

“It’s alright,” Arthur waved off. “I think I’m gonna go see if there’s any food left.”

“That’s a good idea.”

They walked back up to the camp together until Charles had to take a left to go look for Sadie, patting Arthur’s shoulder before he turned. Even though the touch had been brief, it was as though Arthur could feel the warmth of it stream through his entire body. He watched as Charles disappeared between the trees, the warmth draining from him and leaving behind emptiness.

With a determination he didn’t really feel, Arthur turned to his right and went to check on the stew. There was still some left, but although Arthur realised just now that he hadn’t eaten all day, he didn’t feel like taking any. Instead, he walked back towards the firepit and joined the people sitting around it.

Darkness was slowly engulfing them, but Arthur did his best to keep his eyes trained on the flames. One by one, the rest of the gang left to go to sleep, until eventually Arthur was sitting there by himself. He moved down from the log to the ground in front of it so he could lean back and sit more comfortably. Close by, he could hear Pearson’s snoring, a little further off, Uncle’s. The rhythmic sounds and the flickering of the flames were almost hypnotic, and Arthur’s eyelids started to feel heavier.

He startled awake from a light sleep when one of the horses snorted and stomped its hoof. His hand tightened around the handle of his gun instinctively. 

The fire had burnt down to embers and a little in the distance, Arthur could see that the other one at the edge of the camp had done the same. Forcing his hand to let go, telling himself that he was _fine_ there was _no danger around_ , he grabbed a log from the leftover firewood that was sitting next to him and poked around in the embers, trying to set it aflame again without having to move too much. He gave up on that endeavour pretty quickly again though, when it became clear he wouldn’t get anywhere like that. Instead, trying to focus on how heavy and exhausted his body felt as best as he could, not letting his brain get him wired up again, he stumbled towards his tent and let himself fall down onto his cot.

Over the next few weeks, Arthur’s shoulder was healing well; it felt better by the day. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about his sleep. Sometimes he was lucky and managed to sleep through a couple of hours on a quiet afternoon, but most days he pushed through on a few brief naps before he inevitably awoke with a pounding heart and drenched in sweat. 

He didn’t go hunting for a while – taking Charles’ words more to heart than he’d thought – but he tried to keep busy around camp, doing chores or helping to fix whatever was broken. Charles came to ask him for help with certain things a lot, but Arthur realised quickly that he did it to stop him from chopping wood or logging around heavy stuff – most of the time he didn’t need any help. And even though Arthur appreciated the false pretense, it was actually kind of nice to just sit next to Charles and rest. His presence was very calming, and most of the naps he achieved were while Charles was by his side. 

Jack joined them sometimes; Sadie had brought him a new book, and he would sit next to them and read so they could explain to him the words he didn’t understand. 

It wasn’t bad – at times, it was really nice, actually – but the closer his shoulder came to being fully healed, the more all the sitting around was aggravating Arthur and his sleep deprivation wasn’t exactly helpful in dealing with his frayed nerves.

  


* * *

  


“Put that down. Come with me.”

Arthur stopped tilting the coffee can just before any of its content poured into his cup and looked up when he heard Charles’ voice.

“What is it?”

Charles cocked his head. “Come.”

Frowning lightly, Arthur put the can down and followed Charles. “Where are we going?”

“Down to the lake.”

“Charles, I don’t have time for this.” Arthur stopped walking and sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. “I told Lenny we’d go hunting.”

“I talked to Lenny already. Bill’s going with him. Now come on.”

“Why?” Arthur asked, not following Charles, who was continuing to walk towards the shoreline.

Charles stopped and turned to look at him, raising his eyebrows expectantly, and for a long moment they just looked at each other until Arthur eventually gave in with a huff.

“I was looking forward to hunting, you know?” Arthur grumbled.

“There’s always next time. Please.” His voice softened at the last word.

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Just a little further down the shoreline.”

“And what are we doing there?”

“Have some patience, Arthur. You’ll see.”

Arthur rubbed his face and sighed. He didn’t know what Charles’ weird, secretive mood was supposed to mean, but he was too tired to argue.

He followed Charles silently, trudging through the sand in the noonday sun. Sweat was running down his face and his clothes clung to him like a second skin. The light reflecting off the water hurt Arthur’s eyes, and he was following Charles more or less blindly, every step a struggle.

Just when he was about to ask Charles yet again where they were going, Charles stopped. Arthur almost bumped into him, blinking a few times to try to sharpen his vision again.

“Over there,” Charles said, pointing past Arthur towards the large cliff face. Arthur squinted, scanning it for a few seconds until he could see an opening to a cave that had to be what Charles was pointing at.

Charles nudged his shoulder lightly as he walked past him, leading him to the cave. As they got closer, Arthur saw that it wasn’t really a cave; it wasn’t much more than a nook, in fact. Only a few feet deep and a little wider than that. There was a sleeping mat and a small pillow in it – both of which Arthur recognised from their camp, so Charles must’ve been the one who put them here.

“What is this?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking.” Charles sat down on the ground next to the pillow, right by the edge of the nook, and patted the mat, looking at Arthur expectantly until he sat down on it. “A few weeks ago you’ve told me you’re not sleeping well. And, clearly, that hasn’t changed.” Charles looked at him for a long moment, studying his face closely before he turned his head again, looking out over the lake.

“I thought about getting you a room in Rhodes, but, well. You know yourself, we’ve been stirring up some trouble there. Then I came across this and I thought… maybe this could work. It’s no feather bed and I’m afraid I can’t offer any working girls–” Charles grinned at him and Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes, “–but the air’s fresher down here by the water and it’s quiet.”

Arthur frowned lightly, wondering how Charles could be so far off with this, when usually he was perceptive to the point Arthur sometimes wondered if he could read minds. “You… you want me to sleep here? Away from camp? At… night?”

Charles shrugged. “Well, I suppose we could come back at night. I just thought you might be more comfortable in the afternoon.”

“Wait. We?”

They looked at each other in confusion for a moment, now realising that both of them had misunderstood the other at one point.

“I’ll be right here,” Charles said then. “Keeping watch.”

“Oh.” Arthur paused for a few seconds, his sleep deprived brain struggling to catch up. “You’ll just sit here while I sleep?”

“I can go ask someone else if you want to.”

“That’s not what I meant. Just… why?”

Charles shrugged. “It was just an idea. We can go back to camp if you want to.”

“Charles…” Arthur rubbed his face. His head was pounding and trying to catch a clear thought was like wading through knee-deep mud. “Why?” he just asked again, not able to find the right words to rephrase the question.

Charles looked at him for a long moment, and the raw emotion in his eyes struck Arthur like a bolt of lightning. It made him feel almost afraid of what Charles was about to say, but then Charles averted his eyes and exhaled slowly, scratching his forehead before answering in an almost too casual tone.

“Your shoulder has healed and I know you’re itching to get back out there. I just wanted to try to help you get at least a few hours of good sleep before everything starts again. You know how our lives go. Especially now, with this whole Pinkerton mess. All of a sudden, things will go downhill so fast there will be no more time for you to rest. And you’d deal with it. Even if you hadn’t slept for a week, you’d go another week awake just to make sure all of us are safe. I know you would. I just don’t think you should have to.”

Arthur didn’t know how to answer. What could he possibly say to that? He looked at Charles, who was almost too intently watching a flock of ducks on the lake, and studied his strong profile for a few moments, before he decided to forego an answer entirely. Instead, he shifted until he could lie down, placing his head on the pillow. Charles relaxed noticeably and leaned back against the rock behind him.

Arthur’s body slowly sunk deeper into the mat, his aching muscles slowly relaxing. His eyelids felt like sandpaper every time he blinked, but he couldn’t allow himself to leave his eyes closed just yet. Instead he watched Charles, who pulled a block of wood about the size of his hand from his bag and began to whittle, humming quietly. Finally, the rhythmic sound of his knife scraping against the wood and the calming melody lulled Arthur in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be putting up chapters twice a week! Next one will be up on Friday xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the comments and kudos on the first chapter <3  
> happy hosea fucks friday!

The sun had barely begun to rise, but Arthur was wide awake – had been for hours, actually. After the nasty nightmare he’d had earlier that night, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep again. 

He was twisting a little wooden deer in his hands, running his fingers across the shape of it, trying to focus his thoughts on that and not letting them wander. It was beautiful, intricate. Charles had made it for him the afternoon they’d been down by the lake. 

Arthur worried a little he would break it by accident, but he had been carrying it around everywhere with him in his satchel, anyway. He put it back there and stood up, deciding that he might as well get an early start to the day. 

He wasn’t the first one up, though. The fire had already been lit again and coffee had been brewed. He was relieved; no matter how many times he did it, his always turned out bitter and burnt. He poured himself a cup and walked towards the shore of the lake. He took a sip before he put the cup down on a rock and rolled a cigarette. 

As he looked out across the surface of the water, watching the sun rise, he spotted a silhouette of a person swimming out there. He couldn’t make out who it was, but then he spotted Charles’ familiar blue shirt on top of a small pile of clothes a little further off. Charles swam parallel to the shore, turning around every so often so he wouldn’t get too far from camp. With the sun rising higher, Arthur could see the light glistening on Charles’ wet shoulders. His movements were smooth; he made it look effortless. 

Arthur hadn’t noticed how long he’d stood there and watched him – until Charles turned to swim towards the shore and spotted him and, when Arthur quickly averted his eyes and took a sip of his coffee to hide the fact that he’d been watching him, he noticed with a grimace that it had gone cold.

“You coming for a swim?” Charles called out to him when he was a little closer. When Arthur shook his head, Charles swam to the left where his clothes were before he got out of the water. 

Arthur quickly turned his head when he caught himself watching Charles and choked down more of his cold coffee. He gritted his teeth when he realised his face was burning with embarrassment and a strange heat pooled in his stomach. He put down the now empty mug, finally lit his cigarette and took a long drag, trying to make himself look less flustered by the time Charles walked up to him. 

“Why didn’t you come in?” Charles asked when he stepped closer, pulling his braid over his shoulder and wringing it out. “The water’s great.”

“I’m not much of a swimmer.”

“Would probably wake you up a little.” Charles swiped the lit cigarette from Arthur’s fingers before he could react, grinning mischievously when Arthur protested. “Maybe then you’ll be fast enough to stop me from doing that next time.”

“Or I’ll just throw you back in the water, cigarette and all.”

Charles laughed, but gave the cigarette back to Arthur after he’d taken a drag. “I’d like to see you try.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to get himself to calm down when his stomach started doing weird somersaults again. Looked like the lack of sleep was finally getting to him. 

“How’d you sleep?” Charles asked then – as if he’d sensed what Arthur was thinking about, but more likely because the dark rings under Arthur’s eyes seemed to be etched into his skin for eternity now. 

Arthur shrugged. “Alright, I guess.”

His words didn’t sound very convincing, not even to himself. Charles cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t push.

“What about your shoulder?” he asked instead. “Feeling alright?”

This was easier to answer. “Definitely. Good as new.” Arthur rolled his shoulders but scrunched up his nose at the twinge he still felt. “Well, almost.”

“That’s good,” Charles said and nodded, but there was still some concern on his face as he eyed Arthur’s shoulder. 

* * *

_ He was like an annoying little brother to me. What fun we had riding together… _ _  
_ _ What a goddamn mess we’re making of things. _

He should ride back to camp, Arthur thought as he put his journal away, leaning against the remnants of a stone wall beside him. He looked up at the sky in disbelief that the sun had barely moved past its zenith. He felt like he had aged a decade since this morning.

Things couldn’t be going well at camp right now. Arthur wondered where Bill had gone to bury Sean. If he had returned to camp already.

Regardless, Micah would’ve told the rest of the gang what had gone down in Rhodes.

Arthur’s chest tightened, but before he would lose his composure again, he whistled for his horse that was grazing a little ways down the pasture and mounted up.

He could hear agitated voices before he could see any of the gang and jumped off his horse before it came to a full stop, trusting it to sort itself out. As he walked into the camp, he could see that the commotion was coming from Dutch’s tent, where a group of them were standing, talking over each other.

“Arthur!” Dutch called out to him as soon as he spotted him. “Have you seen that boy, Jack?”

“No,” Arthur answered as he felt his heart sink.

“Where is my goddamn son?” Abigail yelled, storming towards Dutch and Arthur as the others dispersed. “Where is he? They took him, didn’t they? They took my son!”

“Who took him?” Arthur asked, having to force the words past the lump that had rapidly formed in his throat. The fear in Abigail’s voice broke his heart all over again.

“We think the Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea answered Arthur’s question as he walked towards them. “That Kieran saw a couple of fellers… sound like Braithwaite boys.”

“Where is my son? If anything–” Abigail’s voice shook and broke off for a second and she put her face in her hands for a moment and Hosea reached up to gently touch her back. “Where is my son, Dutch Van der Linde?” Abigail asked again as she pushed her hands down, the waver in her voice not taking any of the fervour out of it.

Dutch looked at her intensely. “We will find him, we will bring him back to you… and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy’s head. Abigail, you have my word.”

John walked up to the four of them trying to look determined, but Arthur could see the pain in his face, and judging by the commiserating look he gave John, Hosea could see it as well.

“Just get me back my son!”

“I will get that boy back, so help me God… right now.” Dutch turned and started walking towards the horses before he finished and John, Hosea and Arthur followed suit. Arthur’s head was spinning, and he almost wished he hadn’t come back to camp. Hadn’t they been through enough for one day?

“Dutch!” Bill called out, as he, Charles, Javier and Lenny came running closer. “We just heard about Jack. You need some extra guns?”

“Yeah, why not? Micah, Kieran, anyone strange turns up… you kill ‘em!”

While Dutch was barking orders, Arthur looked over at Charles and their eyes met. For a moment, everything around him slowed down, finally giving him a chance to breathe.

“Rest of you… Let’s ride!”

The thundering of hoofbeats as the group accelerated out of camp reverberated through Arthur’s body, feeding the flames set alight by the strength and determination he had seen in Charles’ eyes. All the exhaustion and weariness fell off him as his mind focused on the only thing that mattered now to any of them – and Dutch, of course, put it in words.

“Okay. Let’s go get that boy back!”

* * *

Braithwaite manor going up in flames would’ve been a lot more satisfying had they had Jack with them. Why did this matter have to get drawn out like this? Had Jack being kidnapped so close to them losing Sean not already been bad enough? Did they not deserve a triumph after what they had been through?

As it was though, the grim determination to keep going that Arthur saw on John’s face as he stared into the flames was probably the best he could’ve hoped for.

It wasn’t surprising that the Pinkertons showed up. But Arthur had hoped that they would have a little more time. Enough time to get Jack, at least.

They were talking about Jack when they showed up. John was a lot more on edge than the day before.

“If I don’t get that boy back safe… I’m– she… she’ll kill us all!”

No doubt about that. What they had done to the Braithwaites would pale in comparison to what Abigail would do to the lot of them if anything happened to her son.

Dutch, Hosea and Arthur tried to calm John, but before they got anywhere, Javier had called out.

“Hey Dutch! We got a problem.”

“Not a problem. Visitors. A solution.”

Agent Milton’s voice made Arthur feel sick to his stomach. As the rest of the gang closed in behind the two detectives, Arthur could see the same anger he felt boiling inside him reflected on their faces.

“Good day, fine people. Mr. Van der Linde. Mr. Matthews, I presume. And who are you?”

“Rip Van Winkle,” John replied, his hand resting on the revolver in his holster.

“Huh… good day, Sir,” Milton said dryly, before raising his voice, talking to the entire gang now. “Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency.” He gestured towards the man beside him. “Agent Ross.”

John’s hand was twitching around the handle of his gun and Arthur stepped forward, hoping to shield John from Milton’s view and in doing so, drew the attention on himself.

“Ah… Mr. Morgan. Nice to see you again.”

“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch spoke up, remaining seated with his back towards the detective.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but this… this is a civilised land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded or not yet invented. This thing… it’s done.”

“This place…” Dutch stood up and turned, walking closer towards Agent Milton, Hosea walking alongside him. “Ain’t no such thing as civilised. It’s man so in love with greed… he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.”

Across Agent Milton’s shoulder, Arthur’s eyes met Charles’. It had a similar effect on Arthur, like it had last night, and he briefly wondered if Charles could feel it too. But the restlessness that spread through the gang at Milton’s words reached both of them as well, and within a blink, the strange energy was gone and Arthur focused his attention back to where it really should’ve been the whole time.

“You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde. But I came to make a deal. It’s time. You come with me, and I give the rest of ya three days to run off, disappear and go and live like human beings someplace else.”

“You came for me?” Dutch asked, stepping yet another step closer to Agent Milton. “Risked life and limb in this den of lowlifes and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain’t that fine.”

“I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch. Just you.”

In addition to what he said, the switch from Mr. Van der Linde to Dutch didn’t go unnoticed. Arthur could hear the rustling of John’s clothes half a step behind him as he stiffened and saw a number of hands around the gang move closer to their holsters.

“In that case, it’d be my honor to join you.” Dutch slowly raised his hands and closed the remaining distance between him and Agent Milton. “Excuse me, friends. I have an appointment to keep with…”

All around the two detectives, guns were pulled from their holsters or brought out from behind backs and cocked, the silent defiance from the entire group filling the air with a near palpable tension.

Miss Grimshaw was the one who spoke up, her eyes shooting daggers far more threatening than the rifle in her hands. “I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch.”

“You’re making a big mistake, all of you,” Agent Milton said, looking around the group, raising his arms in a conciliatory gesture. Arthur couldn’t help but feel satisfaction at the surprise that crossed Agent Milton’s face.

Dutch chuckled. “Yeah, dreadful. We have got something… something to live and die for. How awful for us, Mr. Milton. Stop following us. We’ll be gone soon.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. And when I return, I’ll be with fifty men. All of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools. Run!”

Lenny stepped forward, grabbing the detective’s arm. “Come on.”

“Get your damn hands off me, boy!” He tore himself free from Lenny’s grasp as he turned around, bursting through the circle of people around him, and stormed off.

Arthur sighed, the satisfaction he’d felt just moments ago gone again. “What now?”

“We get out of here,” Dutch answered. “And quick. Any ideas?”

“I know a big old house. Hidden in the swamps, outside Saint Denis. I’m sure they'll find us eventually, but it should buy us a few days.”

“A few days is all we need.”

“It’s a spot out by Shady Belle. Lenny and I got into that dispute with the previous occupiers. Place is well hidden.”

Lenny nodded when Dutch turned to look at him at Arthur’s words. He straightened his back, rifle firmly in his hands.

Dutch looked past Arthur’s shoulder at John. “You and Arthur, ride out and make sure no one else has moved in. Lenny, you go follow those fools outta here and make sure that they leave. – And John,” Dutch called after Arthur and John as they were walking towards the horses to get going. “We’ll get Jack back and we’ll get gone. – Rest of you, get packing!”

There were a handful of Lemoyne Raiders at Shady Belle – nothing he and John couldn’t deal with. After sending John to guide the caravan here, Arthur disposed of the rest of the bodies and then gave the house another once-over, scanning the surrounding area through each window, just to make sure.

When he heard the wagons and horses, he went back downstairs and pushed the doors open, right as the rest of the gang was arriving. “Welcome home… all of ya… to my humble abode. We got fine living!” He raised his arms to accentuate his theatrical tone of voice. “– Ignore the corpses and the alligators… it’s paradise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be up monday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super excited to post this one! the back porch scene is the initial idea i had for this fic and from there on out it spiraled into the whole thing lmao

**__** _I cannot decide which I like less… the swamps or the city. Both are full of parasites, reptiles and slime. We’re a long way east of land we know… and far from real open country._

  


* * *

  


“Do as Dutch said,” Arthur told John and patted his shoulder. “Go be with your family.”

As John walked off towards Abigail and Jack, Javier started playing a song on his guitar and a couple of people joined in singing.

Arthur was glad they had been able to return Jack to his family safe and sound. He felt immense relief and yet…

Even as he watched Abigail hold Jack and cover his face with kisses while the boy kept telling her “I’m fine, Momma!” and about the Italian words Bronte had taught him… even as he watched John gently place his hand on Abigail’s shoulder and she turned to smile at him… even as he watched his friends, his family, really, gathered around them, celebrating, singing…

Arthur just felt lost.

  


* * *

  


“Arthur? Arthur! What in the world are you doing back here?!”

Arthur turned his head to the side and the whole world started spinning wildly for a few seconds before it stopped again and he could see Charles coming closer, illuminated by a lamp in his hand.

“Are you trying to get eaten by an alligator?”

“Huh? No, I’m just…” Arthur stopped mid-sentence with an exhausted sigh. His tongue felt heavy, it wasn’t moving like it was supposed to and he could tell his words were barely intelligible.

“Oh, Arthur.” Charles crouched down next to him, reaching out and brushing a strand of hair from Arthur’s face. “How much did you drink?”

Arthur stared at him dumbfounded for a few seconds, the touch running through his body like a bolt of lightning. But then he just shrugged – or tried to, at least. It didn’t feel like it came out quite right. “What’re you doing here?” he asked him. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

“I haven’t seen you in a while, so I got worried.”

“‘M fine. Go back.”

“Come with me.”

Arthur grumbled unwillingly and rolled his head back, the stars strewn across the sky spinning in front of his eyes.

“Please, Arthur. I’m not gonna leave you alone lying out here in the mud like this. Come with me.”

“Just leave me here.” Arthur pressed his palms against his eyes, internally cursing himself out when he felt the wetness of tears against them. “I can’t.” He wasn’t sure if his voice had been loud enough to be heard or if he was speaking clearly at all. Everything felt garbled and wobbly, and he just wanted to lie here until he faded into nothingness so he could finally stop hurting.

He could hear Charles sit down and shift around next to him, and then he slid his hand under Arthur’s head and lifted it up so it was resting on his thigh instead of the ground.

“You’ve been through a lot the past few days,” Charles said softly after a few minutes of silence.

“We all have.”

“Yeah.” Charles ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “But you’ve been at the forefront of everything. Do you want to talk about it?”

Arthur opened his eyes and looked up at Charles. The light from the lamp standing to his left was dancing across his skin, and the shadows made his eyes look even darker. He was looking out into the swamp beyond them, his fingers still absentmindedly playing with Arthur’s hair. The gentle touch made Arthur want to cry. Goosebumps spread across his entire body and he had to fight the urge to twist and nudge against Charles’ hand like a cat begging for pets. 

“Did you know–” Arthur started talking more to distract himself than any other reason. “–that we killed…” Arthur furrowed his brows, trying to recall the numbers. “Um, ninety percent of the alligators in the last… fifty years?”

Charles looked at him, his dark expression deepened by the flickering lamplight. “That’s horrible,” he said then. “How do you know that?”

“There’s this… photographer. Tries to take pictures of lots of wild animals and keeps getting almost eaten by them. We ran into each other a couple’a times. Last time I saw him… I helped him take pictures of some gators. He told me that.”

“Ninety percent?” Charles asked in disbelief.

“Uh-huh.” Arthur turned his head, looking in the direction of the swamp. He wondered if Charles could actually see anything, because to him, outside of the small circle of light the lamp provided, there was nothing but an impenetrable wall of darkness.

“That’s…” Charles shook his head, at a loss for words. His expression reminded Arthur of the time they had gone to hunt bisons together and ended up confronting the poachers. Even though they’d already known each other for a couple of months by that time, that had been the first time he’d seen Charles _really_ angry – and it hadn’t happened a lot since then, either.

Charles sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, before looking at Arthur again. “So is that why you’re trying to turn yourself into a gator meal?” he asked. “Reparations?”

Arthur didn’t respond, he just wiggled his head against Charles’ fingers until they began stroking through his hair again. Charles kept at it for a few minutes, but then he stopped again. With a discontented grumble, Arthur opened his eyes.

“Let’s go,” Charles said, lifting Arthur’s head off his lap and standing up. “Time to get out of the mud.”

Charles held out his hand towards Arthur to help him up on his feet, but Arthur just looked at him, not moving a muscle.

“Don’t challenge me, Morgan. If you don’t get up, I’m gonna drag you back to the house by your feet.”

For a few seconds, they just looked at each other, but when Charles reached out to grab Arthur’s boot, Arthur pulled his leg away quickly, rolling over with a laugh.

“Alright, alright. Jus’ give me a second, will ya?” He propped himself up on his elbow and waited for everything to stop spinning before holding his free hand out towards Charles so he could help him up.

After getting him on his feet, Charles slung his arm around Arthur’s waist and put Arthus’s arm around his shoulder. He dragged him along until they got to the back porch and sat down on the steps. 

“There we go,” he said. “Isn’t this nicer than lying in the mud?”

Arthur just shrugged, scraping dried mud off his arm. Although it had quieted down a lot, he could still hear some conversations and other sounds coming around the corner from the rest of the gang. He couldn’t quite make out any of the words, but the tone carried over enough for him to tell that the atmosphere was a lot less miserable there than it must be for Charles here, sitting next to Arthur.

Arthur looked over at him, actually planning on telling him to go, but before he could open his mouth, Charles looked back at him and, god, Arthur really wanted him to stay. It was selfish – he knew he was a miserable sack of shit to be around these days. And the fact that Charles and he hadn’t really talked in days was entirely on him. He’d seen Charles shoot questioning looks in his direction a couple of times, or scoot over to make room for him by the fire, but Arthur had always ignored him. 

Truth be told, it kind of scared him how intense things had been feeling between the two of them. But right now, he was too drunk to care, and Charles’ presence was the most comforting he’d experienced in a while. 

Even though he tried to stop it, his thoughts replayed the events of the past days before his mind’s eye. Before he fully realised what he was doing, he found himself pressing his forehead against Charles’ shoulder. 

“Arthur?” If Charles felt uncomfortable or taken aback, his voice didn’t reflect it. He sounded only concerned. 

“It should’ve been me,” Arthur choked out around the lump in his throat. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes yet again and squeezed them shut harder.

“What– what do you mean?” Charles asked, but he sounded like he had a suspicion.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see him die in front of me. He was _so young_. He didn’t deserve this.”

“He didn’t,” Charles agreed, laying his arm around Arthur and stroking his back. “It was horrible what happened to him. But it wouldn’t have been any less horrible if it had happened to you. I–” He stopped. “We all need you, Arthur.”

Arthur was quiet for a long while; his grief mixed with confusion over what Charles… almost… had said. He was still too messed up to make sense of any of it, and he could already feel the beginnings of a headache pounding in his temples that would definitely kill him tomorrow. 

“I miss that loud-mouthed brat so much,” he sighed, before sitting up straight again and wiping his hand over his face, hoping it wasn’t too obvious he was drying off tears.

“Me too.” Charles’ hand was still stroking his back, making goosebumps appear on Arthur’s arms, despite the touch being soothingly warm. 

“I wish… I wish I knew where Bill buried him,” Arthur sighed. “Or maybe I don’t.” He rubbed his forehead. “We were all in such a hurry. Can’t be pretty. I just...” He shook his head. “Ah, I don’t know. It just… happened so fast. Which is a good thing in a way, I guess. He didn’t see it coming. Better than sufferin’ for sure.” Arthur had seen people die in many horrible ways. The worst, though, were always the slow ones. Having to suffer for hours, days, weeks, even. Death so inevitable and yet so elusive.

No, he was glad Sean had been spared from that. There were few, if any, things he could think of that would be worse than dying slowly. Death… being dead… wasn’t what scared Arthur. Dying was the terrifying part of it.

And yet…

Arthur would have taken on the most painful deaths a thousand times over if only it would bring back all those they had lost.

“Arthur?”

Charles’ hand gently touching his chin and turning his head tore Arthur from his grim thoughts. Just as they had done right before they had gone to Braithwaite mansion, Charles’ eyes brought the torment of Arthur’s brain to a sudden stop.

But when Charles’ eyes flickered down, away from Arthur’s and instead wandering across his face, Arthur felt an entirely different sort of tension. He was suddenly acutely aware of the way Charles’ knee was pressing against his thigh and that his fingers were still resting against the side of Arthur’s chin. Just barely Arthur was able to hear his voice of reason shout at him through the fog in his alcohol-meddled brain that it would be a horrible, terrible, awful idea for him to lean his face into the touch, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.

Charles’ skin was almost glowing in the warm light of the lamp, and Arthur found himself wondering what it would feel like to touch him. He clenched his fingers into the fabric of his pants to keep himself from reaching out and instead settled for studying the sharp features of Charles’ face more closely than he’d ever had the chance so far.

“You are a very beautiful man, do you know that?” The words were out before Arthur could stop himself.

Charles laughed softly. “Oh, you really are drunk, huh?”

Arthur frowned lightly. “And? Ain’t that when man’s his most honest?”

Charles’ hand grasped the side of Arthur’s face for a moment, before he eventually moved it away. “It’s also when man says a lot of things he’ll regret the next day. – Come on, now.” Charles stood up, holding his hand out towards Arthur. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed. You have a room upstairs.”

Arthur took Charles’ hand and let him help him onto his feet, but he didn’t move from the spot. “A room?”

“Yeah. Miss Grimshaw thought you would enjoy the privacy.”

Arthur would have, usually. Probably would again soon. But right now…

“Alone?”

“John, Abigail, and Jack are right across the hall.” Charles squeezed his hand. “And Dutch and Molly have a room upstairs too.” He tugged on Arthur’s hand, but Arthur didn’t move.

“What about you?”

“I have my tent over there with some of the others.”

Arthur looked over towards where Charles was pointing and then back towards the house.

“Come on. Let’s go take a look at your room.”

But Arthur still wouldn’t budge. Even though earlier this night he had walked off with the full intention of getting himself lost in the darkness, now, the thought of sleeping in a room by himself terrified him. “I don’t wanna be alone.” His voice was quiet; he barely dared to speak the words, but Charles heard him. His expression softened, and he squeezed Arthur’s hand again.

“All right. Come on, then. I’m sure there’s room for you.”

Telling himself that it was because he still felt wobbly on his feet, Arthur didn’t let go of Charles’ hand as they walked towards the tents together.

Most of the gang seemed to have gone to sleep by now. Only two people were still sitting around the fire, but with their backs toward him and their heads low, Arthur couldn’t tell who it was. Not that it mattered. The only person he felt like being around right now was walking right next to him. Charles gestured for Arthur to sit and then shifted around some of his stuff to set up a second sleeping spot.

“Do you want me to keep the lamp on?” Charles whispered when they had both settled in.

“No, it’s fine. You can turn it off.” Arthur closed his eyes and focused on the sounds of Charles shifting into a comfortable position and his breathing slowing and deepening. When he was sure that Charles was asleep, Arthur opened his eyes again. The faint glow of the fire behind him was just giving off enough light for Arthur to make out the silhouette of Charles’ broad shoulders in front of him. He watched them rise and fall for a while, before he shifted closer, careful not to wake him up, until his forehead was close enough to Charles’ back he could feel the heat radiating off him. It was comforting – even though it shouldn’t have been in the already stifling Lemoyne heat. Not even the nights were comfortable in these wretched swamps. Made him think back almost wistfully to the freezing Colter nights.

Bad as it had been, he thought back to Pearson sending him and Charles out hunting. How still and quiet it had all been. The snow swallowing all sounds, as if nothing existed outside of the two of them.

Maybe there were a few things to miss.

  


Arthur was awoken the next morning by the chattering of people and the clanking of utensils, which jump-started the throbbing headache he’d already feared last night.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the blinding brightness. It took a moment until he found his orientation again – not only was the new camp an unfamiliar place, he was also lying in a very unfamiliar position. His eyes widened and for a moment his entire body froze when he realised that his head was resting on Charles’ upper arm, Charles’ other arm wrapped around his waist and his broad chest snug against Arthur’s back.

With his eyes widening, he accidentally made eye contact with Mary-Beth, but she quickly looked away and kept walking as if she hadn’t seen anything. His face burned hot with shame and he shimmied himself free from Charles’ embrace and stumbled onto his feet, just barely managing to catch his balance before tearing the entire tent down around himself.

He was planning on getting a cup of coffee to try to get his brain working again – although he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to remember all of last night – but before he could make it there, he felt nausea twist his stomach and he put down a pretty impressive sprint to make it to the edge of camp before he started vomiting. He hadn’t had a proper meal in a while, so it was mostly just empty retching, but it kept going for what felt like forever.

When it finally stopped, Arthur remained doubled over, holding onto the small tree next to him and just tried to catch his breath. His head was spinning both from what had been too much exertion for him in the state he was in right now and from the memories from last night that came back with a vengeance. Torn back and forth between grief and pain and shame and – most of all – confusion.

“Looks like someone went a little overboard last night.”

Arthur closed his eyes for a second, but turned toward her when Abigail placed her hand on his back.

“Here,” she said, and offered him a cup of water.

“Thank you.” Arthur took a sip and swirled it around his mouth before spitting it out and then drank the rest of it, only now realising how parched he was. 

“Are you alright?” Abigail asked him gently. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately and I’m sorry if I was too harsh on you about Jack. I was just–”

“What? No! Abigail, your son had been kidnapped. If anything, you held it together really well.”

Abigail sighed, pushing a wayward strand of hair out of her face. “I just feel bad because I didn’t mean to push you into going with them if it was too much for you.”

“Of course I was gonna go with them, Abs. Nothing in the world could’ve held me back.” Arthur loved Jack and he would’ve walked straight into hell for the boy.

Abigail smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder before turning away and walking towards Jack, who was chasing around some chickens with a handful of seeds, trying to get them to eat from his hand. Arthur watched Abigail and Jack for a few moments before he went to get himself some more water and then, finally, a cup of coffee.

Charles was up too by now; Arthur watched him brush Taima with an almost meditative calmness. Memories from last night flooded Arthur’s brain and despite the awful headache and residual nausea, he now wished he’d had even more to drink so he’d at least have forgotten it all. Instead, he thought back to the things he’d said – not bad enough that he’d made a complete fool of himself with his crying and lying out in the mud, no, he’d also stared at Charles like a lovelorn schoolgirl and called him beautiful. 

Arthur shook his head, trying to get rid of the memory, and walked over to the row of tents where Mary-Beth was sitting and reading a book. Despite the shame he still felt about what she’d seen earlier, he sat down on a crate next to her.

“Hello, Mary-Beth.”

“How are you, Arthur?” She asked the question in a conversational tone, none of the gravity that it had when Charles asked it – or, this morning, Abigail.

“Fine. How are you?” Arthur returned the question, pulling out his tobacco and rolling a cigarette.

“I’m… well, I’m well, I think. It’s been quite a run we’ve had. But we’re still alive.”

“So, no regrets?” He put the cigarette between his lips, lit it with a match and then handed it off to her.

“Regrets for what?” she asked back, taking the cigarette from him.

“Well, for joining this band of maniacs.”

“If you’re a girl without means in this world… life is very scary. You boys cared for me before no one cared for me. Well, life weren’t very nice, Arthur… Not after Momma got typhoid and… that was a long time ago.”

Arthur nodded solemnly, but before he could think of something to say, Miss Grimshaw came storming toward them. 

“Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan, we have a problem. A real problem. It’s Tilly.”

Oh, hell. It just _had_ to be today, didn’t it?

“What?”

“She’s been taken by them Foreman brothers she used to run with. Come on!”

  


* * *

  


“Arthur?”

Immediately thinking back to last night, when Arthur heard Charles calling out for him, his first instinct was to keep walking, but he stopped nevertheless. 

“Are you alright?” Charles asked when he caught up with him. “I heard about Tilly.”

“Um… yes. I’m… I’m fine,” Arthur stammered. Charles reached out for him, but pulled his hand back again when he saw Arthur staring at it with widened eyes.

“Good, good.” Charles nodded, but he didn’t look at Arthur. “Did you bring that horse?” he asked then, frowning lightly when he spotted Foreman’s Appaloosa Arthur had ridden back to camp.

“Yes!” Arthur replied a little too enthusiastically, relieved about the change of subject. “The, uh, the previous owner… uh, let’s just say he won’t be needing her anymore.”

Charles laughed. “You keeping her?”

“No. I was gonna ask around if anyone else wants her. Do you?”

“I might.” He shrugged and then looked at the horse again. “Mind if I go clean her? She looks like it’s been a while.”

“Of course, go ahead. I’m, uh, I just wanted to go check on Tilly.”

Charles nodded and started to walk off toward the horses, but stopped abruptly two steps later. “Almost forgot. Dutch and Hosea are looking for you. Something about an event in Saint Denis tonight.”

“Damn.” Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead. That was tonight already?

Charles shot him a worried look, so Arthur thanked him for the information before he turned away and hastily went inside. 

  


* * *

  


“Ah, the angry cowboys, you’ve arrived. And you’ve washed!”

The sound of Angelo Bronte’s voice immediately sent Arthur’s mood spiraling. The carriage ride to the mayor’s house in Saint Denis had been so much like old times. They’d had fun, they'd laughed, it had been just like before… Before. Before what exactly? 

Before everything had started to feel so wrong.

Arthur shook his head lightly, directing his attention back to the conversation before him.

“This is quite a party you’ve invited us to,” Dutch said. They had been led to meet Angelo Bronte on a balcony that was overlooking the event in the garden below.

“Yes, quite something. Although I’m not sure what.” Bronte looked about as thrilled about being here as Arthur felt about being in his presence.

“So… this is Saint Denis high society?” Dutch leaned against the railing while Arthur stopped a few feet behind him, his eyes wandering across the crowd.

“Yes, apparently so.”

“And all these people… these are friends of yours, Signor Bronte?”

While Bronte answered, one of his men handed out cigars. “No, no, no, not quite… not quite… but they certainly are afraid of me. Like that one. See that wretch? He’s the mayor.” Bronte laughed. “Henri Lemieux. He’ll do anything for a dollar and I mean _anything._ ”

One of the men offered Dutch a lit match and was about to walk off right after, but Arthur grabbed his wrist to light the cigar in his mouth.

“Politics is a foul business.”

“Yes. Oh, and that one, too. That is Alberto Fussar,” Bronte said, pointing out the man he was talking about. “He owns a sugar plantation out on the island and he comes here to whore and despoil himself.” He laughed again – an ugly, condescending laugh that made Arthur grit his teeth in an attempt to not let his face show his disdain. “Oh, oh, and that, that is Hobart Crawley. A Confederate major in the war. A big hero, they say, but that is his… his very young wife. I mean, a young mistress, that’s the natural order of things, yes? But a young wife… it’s unseemly – Oh, oh! The redskins.”

Arthur’s body froze, and he was careful not to move a muscle because if he did, he might just lose control and toss Bronte over the railing, hoping he’d break his neck on impact.

“I have no sympathy for them because whoever is stupid enough to be tricked by the Americans… they get what they deserve, huh?” He laughed his condescending laugh again. “Yes, hand a letter to the mayor. Oh yeah, that’ll save you.”

Arthur’s blood was boiling. Maybe if he moved quick enough, he’d be able to take out Bronte before his men inevitably killed him for it. He indulged in the fantasy for a few moments, but Bronte’s next words tore him out of it.

“And that… that is Hector Fellows. The self-righteous newspaperman. Maybe, maybe you will kill him for me one day?”

Arthur’s head snapped to the side and from the corner of his eyes, he could see that Dutch had done the same.

“Well, we’re not paid killers as such… not in cold blood anyway,” Dutch said, a lot calmer than Arthur would’ve been able to speak.

“I did not know you were so particular that, uh, you wouldn’t help a friend.”

“Oh, I’m willing to help in any way I can… within reason.”

“I’m going to pretend to understand what that means.”

“I meant no offence, Sir.” Dutch’s voice was tight. Bronte’s condescension was pissing him off too, and Arthur knew it wouldn’t take much more before the façade would crumble.

“None taken, none taken.” Bronte and his men laughed, but if anything, it made the atmosphere even more tense. “All these vulgar people. They hate me.” He shouted something in Italian, waving down at them, and Dutch shot Arthur a glance, before turning towards Bronte again.

“Well, uh, it has been wonderful… conversing with you… but I can tell that you are very busy and I won’t waste anymore of your time.”

Arthur was ready to leave the balcony as quickly as possible, but of course Bronte wasn’t done talking yet.

“Yes, yes, yes, go enjoy yourselves and mingle with this vulgar scum. It’ll make you long for the days when you could shoot each other and screw cows out on the open range.”

Next to him, Arthur could see Dutch’s hands clench to fists for a moment before he spoke, his voice barely concealing his anger anymore. “Those sure were the days. Good day, gentlemen.”

“Good day to you. – But, before you go…”

Already having started to walk away, Arthur and Dutch stopped, turning back around.

“What exactly are your plans here?” Bronte asked.

“We’ve not made any…” Dutch said slowly. “Well… we are going to need some money.”

“Money… yes, of course. Well, there’s money at the trolley station. They keep a lot of cash there in the day. Now I could not involve myself in such matters… but you,” he scoffed, “as a guest, yes. As _my_ guest, pah, do it! Okay, good day, gentlemen.”

The same man that had led them upstairs, walked them back down again and pointed towards the doors to a lower floor balcony. As soon as he left them and was out of sight and earshot, Dutch and Arthur looked at each other for a long moment, both trying to keep their anger in check.

Dutch, as was to be expected, had himself under control a lot quicker than Arthur, but he didn’t say anything to hurry him. They just stood next to each other in silence for a few minutes until Arthur looked at him and nodded, signalling that he was ready. They joined Bill and Hosea outside and Dutch assigned each of them their tasks – sending Arthur out to mingle and go find the mayor. As Arthur stepped outside to join the party, he did his best to look like the agreeable person he had never once in his life felt like.

He did his best to talk to a couple of people, but he felt so awkward and stiff trying to be friendly and outgoing that he was almost glad when he heard the first warning signs of a drunkard only moments away from starting a scene. Cutting through the crowd, Arthur was able to make out the man’s words more clearly.

“It ain’t complex, Lemieux. And only an idiot like you, buddy, would try to make it so.”

“I will not deny idiocy, Sir,” another man with a heavy French accent replied. “But perhaps now is not the time.”

Arthur spotted the drunk man in a group of people standing near the fountain, not far away from where he was now. He closed the distance with a few big steps.

“Typical pansy!”

“You’re drunk, Ferdinand.”

“I am not drunk, you fool. But this man…” he placed his hand on the man with the French accent’s shoulder, “this man loves darkies.”

Arthur had heard enough. “You are pretty drunk.” He laid his arm around the drunkard’s shoulders and grabbed his arm firmly. “What’s say you and me cool off?”

He steered the man through the crowd to the edges of the party. Even though he was itching for a fight, he knew it would ruin everything they were trying to build, so he just pushed the man towards a gazebo in the dark – clearly beyond the area meant or the party, so no one was likely to stray there – and told him to cool off before he returned to the fountain where the other men were still standing.

“Thank you, Sir,” the man with the French accent extended his hand towards Arthur before introducing himself. “Henry Lemieux. I hope you’re enjoying my party.”

“The mayor?” He had assumed so, but it was good to get confirmation.

“Allegedly.”

“That’s quite a place you got here.”

“It’s not mine, and the city is horribly in debt, but we can still put on a good show. Do you know Evelyn Miller?” he asked, pointing towards one of the men next to him.

“My lord… the writer?” Arthur asked, surprised, thinking back to the countless times Dutch had talked about him.

Evelyn Miller just chuckled though, looking a little embarrassed. “Well, we seem to have another deranged drunkard on our hands.”

Before Arthur could say anything else to either Henry Lemieux or Evelyn Miller, fireworks went off in the sky above them.

“Shall we?” Henry Miller asked, turning around so he could watch the fireworks.

Arthur wasn’t quite as taken with the fireworks as the rest of the crowd seemed to be. He halfheartedly watched them though, listening to the _ooh_ s and _aah_ s around him.

A few minutes after the fireworks had started, Arthur noticed a waiter hastily pushing his way through the crowd towards the mayor. The waiter was leaning in close to Henry Lemieux, but because of the fireworks he had to speak loudly enough so that Arthur could still hear them.

“Mr. Cornwall was quite insistent, I’m afraid. He shouted at the telephone for several minutes.”

“Mr. Cornwall is a horse’s ass and a bad horse,” Lemieux replied angrily. Arthur almost laughed at the odd expression.

“I’m very sorry, Sir.”

“It’s not your fault, I’m a fool for trusting him. I’ll come and sign it in a minute. Let me enjoy the fireworks.” The mayor turned his attention back towards the fireworks and the waiter nodded before backing up again.

“Did he just say something about Cornwall?” Dutch appeared seemingly out of nowhere next to Arthur.

Trying to hide his surprise, Arthur just replied with a quick ‘yes’ and Dutch sent him off to find out what they were talking about.

Leaving the crowd gazing at fireworks behind, Arthur walked in the direction he’d seen the waiter go until he spotted him again. He followed him into the house, careful to keep his distance. The waiter yelled at a servant girl – something about the standards in this house slipping – and Arthur suppressed a sigh. When the waiter finally moved on, he went upstairs and then entered a room where he slipped something into the top drawer of a heavy wooden desk. Arthur waited hidden around the corner before slipping into the room and taking the papers.

“Mr. Leviticus Cornwall,” he muttered, reading aloud to himself, “Top secret… extremely confidential. Very interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter on thursday!


	4. Chapter 4

Even though Bill’s dramatic complaints about the pigeon shit that was high society on the carriage ride back had helped to lift his mood, Arthur was still rather tense by the time the four of them got back to camp. When Arthur spotted Charles, he was already walking towards them, looking at Arthur with a mischievous grin on his face. To his embarrassment, Arthur felt his heart flutter and then – to his further embarrassment – the events of last night came crashing down on him again. God, had it really only been last night? The big party tonight had taken up so much space in his head that everything else had just kind of disappeared.

But right now, in the couple of seconds it took Charles to walk up to him while Arthur was frozen on the spot, everything that had happened was flashing in front of his mind’s eye again and overwhelming him, only to be brought to a screeching halt when Charles was standing right in front of him, still with the same expression on his face.

“What are you laughing about?” he asked Charles with mock-annoyance when Charles’ grin turned into a chuckle as Arthur stepped closer to him.

“Nice clothes,” Charles said, grabbing the front of Arthur’s suit jacket and tugging on it.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but the close proximity made his heart flutter.

“So?” Charles asked, still holding onto the jacket, but his hands resting against Arthur’s chest now. “How was it? Being a part of high society for a night?”

“Awful,” Arthur sighed. “Only thing worse than a city is city people.”

The smile on Charles’ lips widened. “So I don’t have to worry about you running off to live in the big city?”

“Definitely not. I’d sooner become a permanent resident in the O’Driscoll’s basement.”

“That bad, huh?” Charles’ tone of voice was still playful, but the flicker of pain that had passed over his expression after hearing the O’Driscolls mentioned hadn’t escaped Arthur’s notice. “Did you at least get some good leads?”

“I think so.” Arthur rubbed his neck. “Some more than others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah.” Arthur waved off. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’m really tired.”

Charles nodded. “Sounds good. I’m late for taking over the watch post from Lenny anyway.”

“Well. Maybe if you’d spend a little less time picking on me, you wouldn’t be late.”

“True. But where would be the fun in that?” Charles flashed him a bright grin and winked at him. Arthur’s brain momentarily ceased to function, and he just stood there like the complete dunce that he was while Charles patted him on the shoulder while he walked off.

When he caught a hold of himself again, Arthur saw that John was watching him closely from where he was sitting at the fire. Absolutely _not_ wanting to talk about any of this right now, Arthur decided to get his dunce-self inside instead and walked around the other side of the fountain towards the front door to escape John’s eyes.

After heading inside, he’d meant to go straight to his room, but as he climbed the stairs, he could hear Micah’s voice and so, at the top of the stairs, instead of going left he took a couple of steps forward and he saw Dutch and Micah standing bent over some papers, talking intently.

But then Micah spotted Arthur and stopped talking in favour of glaring at him. “Need something?”

At Micah’s words, Dutch looked up from the papers. Half expecting Dutch to ask him to join their discussion, Arthur held off answering. But instead, Dutch averted his eyes again quickly. With a frown on his face, Arthur looked back to Micah, who was still looking at him expectantly, and then turned away, walking to his room.

The idea of them conspiring left a bitter taste in his mouth. He closed the door behind him roughly, already too upset again to get any satisfaction out of the fact that he even had a door to be closing behind him.

His room doubled as the ammunition storage; half of it was taken over by boxes over boxes of bullets and piles of arrows. His stuff was all there too, his cot was standing against the wall in the back, the trunk with his clothes next to the foot end of it, and his map and his pictures were put up too. But Arthur didn’t go back there just yet. Instead, he stepped up to the window right across from the door. Or, well, the window-frame, anyway. It must’ve been damaged in one of the shootouts that had happened here. There was a light breeze wafting through it, but it wasn’t refreshing at all. The air was still thick and humid, and it made Arthur feel like he was breathing in soup.

He placed his palm against the window frame and looked at the camp below him.

He could faintly hear the voices of the people still sitting by the fire, but not enough to make out the words they were saying. It was very dark – new moon. The night sky seemed to push down on them, as if the darkness was trying to swallow them up and make them disappear.

Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It seemed better than some of the other things that were looming at the horizon right now.

With a sigh, Arthur stepped back from the window and stretched himself as he walked towards his bed, his joints popping. He was exhausted. His muscles ached and his head was still throbbing. Even so, he couldn’t get himself to actually lie down and attempt to sleep.

There was so much going on, so much about to happen, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to do something. Only… what exactly? His mind wandered back to Dutch’s and Micah’s secretive conversation earlier. There’d been too many of these happening.

Arthur hated it, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Micah was a good talker. He always found just the right words to pull Dutch on his side. Arthur was useless at that. He was no good at talking. Sure, Dutch listened to him sometimes – but only because they’d known each other for so long. Whenever Arthur tried to argue against something Micah said, he just ended up looking unreasonable and bitter.

They had probably been talking about the trolley station Bronte had mentioned, no? Arthur had a bad feeling about that job. He didn’t trust anything that came out of Bronte’s mouth, and he couldn’t understand why Dutch would. For someone who spent as much time sweet-talking people, he seemed to be falling for it pretty easily himself as of late.

He wished now he’d pushed to discuss the bank job Hosea had found instead of agreeing to talk about plans tomorrow. Hosea had already gone to sleep though, so it was too late for that now.

Because he didn’t know what else to do with all his nervous energy, Arthur got up again and pulled out all the weapons he had with him and placed them on the desk before starting to clean them. It was usually an activity that helped him calm his racing thoughts. Even though it didn’t occupy them otherwise – all the years of doing it had ingrained the process in his mind and body to the point where he was pretty sure he could do it in his sleep – he did feel calmer by the time he was done with them. Still, not calm enough to sleep, so he got up from the chair and headed downstairs, past a passed-out Uncle at the foot of the stairs and a couple more people from whom he couldn’t make out more than blurry silhouettes sleeping in the adjoining room.

The front door creaked loudly when he opened it, and he made a mental note to grease it by daylight. He didn’t know what time it was, and the lack of visible stars and moonlight didn’t give him an estimate either, but it had finally cooled down at least a little while he’d been tending to his guns. His plan had been to get his rifles and clean those too, but then he changed his mind, taking a turn at the last second because he found that walking was actually quite nice right now.

The wind had picked up and was carrying the sound of snoring towards him. He walked in aimless circles around camp, noticing only after a while that he hadn’t left the reach of the fire’s light at all. He looked along the side of the house into the darkness and felt his stomach drop.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself under his breath. Hadn’t it been just last night that he’d walked right into the darkness without hesitation?

Arthur forced his body to move towards the edge of light until he could barely make out anything anymore, but then his feet refused to make another step. The darkness looked like a wall – or a curtain, rather, and if he took another step, he might end up stepping right into the O’Driscoll’s basement and become trapped again.

It didn’t matter that he knew that was impossible. It didn’t matter that he knew he was being ridiculous. His palms were sweaty, heart beating wildly. His body refused to move, to take another step forward.

Behind him, a twig snapped beneath someone’s feet and Arthur swivelled around, pulling his knife in the same movement.

It was just Charles.

“Easy there, big man.” He raised his hands disarmingly. “I come in peace, I promise.”

He had a lamp attached to his belt, but it was almost out of oil, the flame flickering weakly. Arthur stared at it for a moment until he managed a nod. The movement felt stiff and unnatural. His pulse was still hammering away wildly. His breathing was shallow and his muscles were taut and yet he was frozen on the spot, completely unable to move.

Charles slowly reached out towards him, moving as if he was trying to approach a panicked horse that might kick him to death at any moment – which was not an inaccurate way to describe the way Arthur felt right now.

They looked at each other for a few moments until Arthur finally managed to lower the knife and put it back in its sheath.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s all right. I just wanted to… I just wanted to see if you needed anything. You looked a little…”

“Pathetic?” Arthur asked when Charles trailed off. “Idiotic?”

“More like lost.” Charles smiled gently at him.

Arthur scoffed, but immediately felt bad for it. He sometimes wished Charles wasn’t so damn perceptive. Or that he’d at least direct it at someone more deserving of it.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Charles asked him.

“Can’t.” Arthur shrugged. “Too many things to think about.” He laughed dryly. “How ironic is that? The village idiot thinks he has too many thoughts.”

Charles frowned deeply, but before he said anything, Arthur turned his head with a sigh to stare into the darkness again. 

“Maybe you should’ve let me wander off into the swamp last night. At least I actually made it back there instead of being afraid of the monsters hiding in the dark.”

“I don’t think you’d be a good gator meal. Wouldn’t really be much in terms of reparations. At least not without a good wash.”

Arthur laughed, but he couldn’t let himself get cheered up. “Is this gonna go away? Or am I just gonna be useless and scared for the rest of my life?”

“For the record… I don’t think fear makes you useless.”

“But fear of the _dark?_ What good am I in a life like this if I’m scared of the dark?”

“You came to Braithwaite manor,” Charles said. “That was at night. You went to a graveyard with John at night.”

“So what, you’re saying I’m lying?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying… if I was lying back there–” he pointed into the black nothingness behind Arthur “–with a broken leg… I wouldn’t have any doubt at all that you’d come get me.”

Arthur tried to avert his eyes, but Charles moved with him, raising his eyebrows until Arthur eventually sighed and conceded.

“Well… yeah.”

“It’s understandable that you’re afraid after what happened. Especially with everything that keeps piling on. There’s barely any time to process it all.” Charles was looking at him with so much understanding, so much encouragement in his eyes, Arthur felt his chest tighten in a panic before he was suddenly hit with the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, start yelling at him, make him stop believing in Arthur and realising that he just wasn’t worth any of this. 

Charles must have sensed the shift in Arthur’s mood. His eyebrows furrowed, and he reached out for Arthur’s hand, but Arthur stepped back before Charles touched him.

“I’m… I’m gonna try to get some sleep now.”

“Of course.” Charles still looked worried, but he nodded and smiled softly at him. “Good night, Arthur.”

“Good night.”

When Arthur finally fell asleep, after tossing and turning for what felt like an eternity, horrible dreams plagued him. He awoke feeling even more tired and stressed out than when he’d gone to sleep.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he nearly fell down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a string of curses leaving his lips and just barely on his feet.

“What’s the matter with you?!” Uncle grumbled, woken up by Arthur’s noise.

“Won’t kill you to be up before noon for once,” Arthur snapped, but walked off without waiting for an answer. He aimed straight for the coffee can, keeping his replies to the handful of ‘good morning, Arthur’s he received to grunts until he finished his first cup. As he poured himself a second one, he felt a lot more human already.

“Have you seen Charles?” he asked Javier when he saw that Charles’ sleeping spot was empty, but couldn’t spot him anywhere.

Javier shook his head. “No. Must’ve gotten up early. Maybe he’s hunting.”

From behind him, Arthur could hear Micah muttering something while Javier was answering, but he didn’t understand what.

“You got something to say, Micah?” Arthur asked and turned around, his blood boiling already.

Micah was enjoying Arthur’s anger; it was clearly visible on his face. “It’s not so much that I’m surprised you turned out to be a fairy, cowpoke, but I would’ve thought even you had better taste than to end up with a prairie ni–”

Before he could finish the last word, Arthur’s fist crashed against his jaw. Micah stumbled backwards; he kept himself upright at first, but before he could manage to get a secure footing again, Arthur lunged at him and threw them both to the ground, pummeling Micah with his fists.

It was barely more than a blur in Arthur’s mind – there was a lot of shouting, a lot of insults, a lot of punches and at one point a sickening crunch when Micah rammed his forehead against Arthur’s nose – but it was as if Arthur was watching it happen from the outside.

Two people grabbed him by the arms and pulled him off Micah. He strained against them, trying to free his arms.

“Arthur, you’re going to kill him!” Javier said from his left side.

“I don’t think that’ll make him want to stop.” Bill was to his right, grunting when Arthur fought against their restraining him. “If anything, it’ll encourage him.”

“Got that right,” Arthur snarled, but stopped struggling.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Arthur winced when he heard Charles’ voice from behind him. He didn’t turn his head towards him. Micah clumsily got up on his feet and spat out blood. He shot Arthur a dark glare but didn’t say anything before turning around and walking away. Bill and Javier loosened their grips on Arthur’s shoulders, but didn’t let go just yet.

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?!”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Javier said and let go of Arthur. “I didn’t do nothing.”

“Bill?”

Not saying anything either, Bill let go of Arthur as well, and in order to avoid Charles’ imploring look for as long as possible, Arthur watched him and Javier walk away instead.

“Hey.” Charles placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, sounding impatient. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

“It’s nothing.” Arthur shook off Charles’ hand. “Just Micah being a prick. You know how he is.”

“That looked like a little more than just that.”

“I said it’s nothing!” Arthur felt a pang of guilt for taking this tone of voice with Charles, but he shoved it aside.

“Let me take a look at your nose.” Charles reached out to him, but Arthur moved away.

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, Arthur, let me–”

“God, will you just leave me alone?!”

Charles lowered his hand slowly. He looked hurt, and Arthur had to fight back another bout of guilt. He turned around and hurried away – not only trying to escape Charles, but also the overwhelming tornado of emotions inside of him.

“Arthur! What’s this I hear about you getting into a fight with Micah?!”

Arthur gritted his teeth, feeling the rage inside of him bubble up yet again. “You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now.” He attempted to walk away from Dutch. “I’m not talking to you about this if you’re going to take his side, anyway.”

“Taking his side?” Dutch followed Arthur closely. “Who’s taking sides? This isn’t some silly little disagreement like you and John used to have when you were younger.”

“No, this ain’t about some silly little disagreement. This is about _you_ droning on about family day in and day out and then you turn around and defend Micah as if he’s not constantly acting like the worst kind of ass towards half your so-called family based on nothing but the colour of their skin!”

“Arthur, please. I know that you and Charles have–”

“This ain’t about Charles, for crying out loud.” Arthur clenched his fists, fighting against the urge to punch something. Or someone. “This is about Micah. And _you_. Your behaviour around him and you constantly defending him when he don’t deserve it!”

“Arthur.” Hosea appeared seemingly out of nowhere and placed his hand on Arthur’s chest, pushing him back slightly. Only then Arthur noticed that he’d been closing in on Dutch while he’d been yelling. “Why don’t you go calm down for a bit and we’ll talk about this later?”

“What’s there to talk about?!” Arthur shoved Hosea’s hand away roughly. “Just tell Micah to pack his bags and get the hell away from here. We’ll all be better off that way.”

“Arthur, _please_.” Hosea positioned himself in between Arthur and Dutch to break their line of sight. “Just go collect yourself. We won’t get anywhere like this.”

Arthur gritted his teeth, but eventually gave in to Hosea’s pleading look. He turned around and stormed off to his horse and rode away.

  


* * *

  


He returned to camp a few hours later when the sun was already beginning to set. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, his eyes immediately scanned the area for Micah. Luckily, he couldn’t spot him anywhere. 

Instead, he almost bumped into Charles because he wasn’t looking where he was going. 

“Wasn’t sure if you’d come back tonight,” Charles said.

“Well, I did.”

Charles’ smile dropped at the biting tone of Arthur’s voice and he averted his eyes. Before the stinging of pain could get a secure footing in Arthur’s chest, he pushed past Charles and walked past him into the house. A shouting match from upstairs reached his ears before he made it to the foot of the stairs and instead of going to his room, he walked straight out the backdoor. He didn’t get much farther than that though, because as soon as he opened the door, he spotted Micah a little ways off. 

Arthur closed the door behind him and leaned his forearms onto the railing of the back porch. He pulled off a few pieces of splintering wood, mostly to keep his hands busy and stop himself from drawing a weapon. Of all the ways to do it, killing Micah while he was taking a piss probably wouldn’t be very satisfying, no matter how tempting it seemed right now.

When Micah turned around and saw Arthur, he stopped for a moment and the two of them glared at each other. Even from the distance, Arthur could tell that Micah’s face was thoroughly messed up. His own face he’d only briefly seen in a distorted reflection on the surface of a small stream where he’d stopped to wash off the blood. That had been a few hours ago, so of course by now the swelling had probably gotten worse, but he liked to think that he got off better than Micah.

After a few seconds, Micah turned his head and walked off. Arthur’s hands clenched around the railing and he let out a forceful breath. He was still angry. God, how he wished he could beat him up again.

He reached into the chest-pocket of his jacket and rolled himself a cigarette. Upstairs, a door slammed shut and moments later hasty footsteps thundered down the stairs and Molly burst out the door and ran past Arthur without even noticing him. He thought about following her to make sure she’d be okay, but before he could do that, Tilly hurried after her. She must’ve been nearby and heard Molly crying.

He jumped down the steps and walked around the side of the house towards Pearson’s wagon. A couple of people were sitting around the fire talking, the shadows around them being pulled longer and longer as the sun set. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to join them. Instead, he opened a bottle of beer and sipped on it while he stood and watched them from the distance like the imbecile he was. He couldn’t understand most of what they were saying, and his thoughts began to wander. Back to what happened today at first, then further back to everything that had been going on lately. God, he felt like absolute shit. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there – but judging by the growing collection of empty beer bottles, it must’ve been quite a while – when he was torn from his thoughts by Javier calling out Charles’ name. As Arthur watched Charles approaching the group and sitting down on one of the crates, his heart sped up and he felt his hand tightening around the bottle of beer in his hand. For a moment he wished it would break and cut his hand to draw his attention away from Charles, but no such luck. Instead, he brought the bottle to his lips again and emptied it. When he put it down, without making a conscious decision to do so, he stepped forward and walked towards Charles. He hadn’t noticed how drunk he was until he’d already started moving, but once he had, there was no stopping him. 

The group fell quiet when Arthur approached them, but Arthur didn’t look at any of them except Charles. – Who was the only one that hadn’t moved to look at him. Granted, Arthur was approaching him from the back, but even if it hadn’t been for the reactions of the others, he was sure Charles would’ve heard his footsteps. 

“Charles…” Arthur’s voice sounded strange, even to himself. But finally, Charles turned his head and looked at him. “Can we… talk? Please?”

Charles looked at him and for a second, Arthur thought – _feared_ – that he would say no. But he nodded and stood up. 

Truth be told, Arthur had no idea what he was going to say. He hadn’t thought that far – hadn’t thought at all, had just wanted to be with Charles. They walked away from the group, but then Arthur’s step faltered and he turned around to Charles because he really didn’t know where to go. Charles stopped too, standing with his back towards the campfire, so his face was hidden in the shadows. 

“Where uh, where do you wanna go?” Arthur asked awkwardly.

Charles shrugged. “You asked me to talk, didn’t you?”

Arthur swallowed emptily at Charles’ cold voice. He knew he deserved it for the way he’d acted towards him earlier, but it didn’t lessen the sting any.

Charles sighed and rubbed his forehead, but then he grabbed a lamp and lit it. “Let’s go over there,” he said and pointed towards the gazebo. 

Arthur nodded, relieved. Maybe Charles wasn’t _that_ mad at him. They walked in silence and Charles put the lamp on the table in the middle of it and then stepped back and leaned against the railing, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Arthur sighed and sank down on a chair, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this horrible about someone being angry at me,” he groaned. 

Charles didn’t say anything at first, but a few seconds later he stepped closer and placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “All right, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Thank you. Will you tell me what you fought Micah about?”

“It’s nothing you have to worry about.” Arthur shifted uncomfortably. 

Charles pulled up one of the chairs right in front of Arthur and sat down. “Javier told me what Micah said.” 

“Wh– then why did you just ask me about it?!” Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and exhaled forcefully, trying to calm himself down. He hadn’t meant to get loud again. He carefully looked up at Charles, but to his relief he looked amused and not upset. 

“I just wanted to see if you’d tell me yourself.” He paused, as if he was waiting for Arthur to say something, but when he didn’t, he continued. “This can’t have been the worst thing you’ve heard Micah say. Why’d you fight him today?”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “Are you really gonna make me say it?” Now he _wanted_ the anger. Anything was better than this horrible insecurity and nervousness while his heart attempted to leap from his chest.

Charles shook his head, biting his lip and trying to fight the smile, but didn’t quite manage. But then he looked at Arthur, his face taking on a concerned look. “You’re drunk,” he stated. 

“So?”

“Why?”

Arthur shrugged. “Why’s it matter?”

“I’m just concerned. I don’t want you to end up like Karen.”

“Karen’s a great girl,” Arthur grumbled defensively.

“Of course she is.” Charles placed his hand on top of Arthur’s. “But she’s not well. And I don’t want you to end up like that. And it’s not gonna get any prettier for her if she don’t stop soon, believe me.” His face darkened and Arthur remembered when Charles had told him about his father. He had completely forgotten about that until just now. 

“I’m sorry, Charles.”

Charles waved off. “How’s your nose feel?”

“Not too bad.”

“Looks bad. – Not as bad as Micah, though.” He grinned, but it looked like he felt a little bad about it.

Arthur grinned back at him, but his smile fell again after a second. “Charles… are we… I mean… are you still angry at me?” He looked down at his knees and at Charles’ hand that was still lying on top of his. He slowly turned his hand around and closed his fingers around Charles’. Charles rubbed his thumb across the back of Arthur’s hand.

“No, of course I’m not mad.” His voice sounded a little hoarse, and Arthur was fairly certain that his own would’ve sounded the same if he’d been able to say anything. Instead, he just stared at Charles while he felt goosebumps spread across his arms. Despite the calluses on Charles’ palm, the touch was soft and comforting. Arthur thought back to the night they’d retrieved Jack from Angelo Bronte. Charles had held his hand then, too. And then there had of course been the next morning. He’d been embarrassed back then, but now he wished he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get out of Charles’ embrace. 

“I guess Trelawney is gonna have to find somebody else for poker, huh?” Charles said after a few minutes. “You might not really look the part anymore right now.”

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, well, truth be told, I wasn’t much looking forward to it, anyway.”

“Playing poker with a bunch of rich people? I would’ve thought that’d be right up your alley.”

“The robbing them part didn’t sound too bad.”

Charles laughed. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty more chances to rob rich people.”

Arthur felt his face redden at the way Charles was looking at him, but he hoped it wouldn’t be visible in the dim light of the kerosene lamp. He lowered his eyes to their hands that were still intertwined, resting on Arthur’s knee. He squeezed Charles’ hand and Charles squeezed back. They did that back and forth a couple of times until they both started laughing. 

“Y’know… I can’t remember the last time someone held my hand,” Charles murmured, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean– I know you did a few days ago but– before, uh, before that.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Charles squeezed his hand one more time, but then he let go and leaned back in his chair. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his tobacco and started rolling a cigarette. Arthur followed suit. 

They smoked in silence, watching the camp quieten and darken bit by bit as most people went to sleep and lamps were extinguished.

“How did you sleep last night?” Charles asked him, dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground and putting it out with his shoe.

Arthur frowned at him; the question seemed to lack context.

“You seemed upset when we talked last night. Plus, it was late then. And it’s late again, now,” Charles elaborated. 

“Oh. Yeah, I, uh, I was kinda agitated, I guess. Didn’t sleep too badly though.”

“Good.” Charles nodded. “Nightmares?”

“Less than I used to have,” Arthur said vaguely.

“That’s something.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds in silence. Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Well, uh, you’re right. It’s late.” He stood up, the movements stiff and more abrupt than intended.

“Yeah.” Charles stood up and grabbed the lamp, walking down the steps of the gazebo in front of Arthur. When they were at the height of the front door, Charles stopped and turned around towards him. They looked at each other in silence again. Charles reached out for Arthur’s hand and squeezed it once, but before he could pull back, Arthur closed his fingers around his hand and held it in place.

“Charles…” His voice nearly cracked halfway through the name when he was suddenly struck with the sense that this moment had an importance he couldn’t understand just yet. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and carefully stepped closer, moving his feet as if he was scared the ground would explode under him on impact. 

Arthur let go of Charles’ hand and slid his hand up across Charles’ bare forearm until he reached the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt in the crook of his elbow. He fidgeted with the fabric, but he was mostly focused on the feeling of Charles’ warm skin against the side of his hand. 

“Were you gonna say something?” Charles’ voice was barely more than a whisper. His free hand snaked across Arthur’s holster and settled above his hip. 

Arthur swallowed again, his mouth bone dry. “I… I just wanted to… thank you,” he stammered. “For everything you’ve done for me lately.”

Charles’ Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and his tongue darted out to lick over his lips. “It’s… it’s nothing, Arthur.”

“No. It’s everything.” His hand closed around Charles’ forearm at the same moment as Charles’ hand tightened on Arthur’s hip. Charles’ eyes flickered from Arthur’s eyes down to his lips and then up again. Arthur’s heart was going a million miles an hour and his palms suddenly felt cold and sweaty. Charles was leaning in slowly, bringing his face closer to Arthur’s. Arthur was staring at him wide-eyed, not really sure what to do. Charles’ breath brushed over his skin and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and let himself fall. Let whatever was about to happen happen and not think about any of the implications of it. Their faces were less than an inch apart and it wouldn’t have taken even a second longer until their lips touched, but at the last moment, Arthur turned his head and leaned back. 

Immediately, he felt as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head. Charles leaned back on his heels and pressed his lips together, pulling his hands back from Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No, Charles I–” Arthur started, even though he didn’t know what he should say. But before he could – or had to – think of something, Charles turned around and walked away, his pace leaving no doubt about not wanting to be followed. 

Arthur cursed, and he really wanted to kick the lamp off the fountain and send it off flying just so he could break something. He stopped himself at the last moment, but his next thought was about waking up Micah and maybe getting a round two of their fight. 

But despite those urges feeling overbearing, Arthur knew that the anger wasn’t the real problem. And he also knew that giving in to it wouldn’t make him feel better. Hell, even if he hadn’t already known it deep down for a while, he would’ve learnt it this afternoon after the fight.

No, anger wasn’t the issue here. He was scared, embarrassed… confused. Anger was a lot easier to deal with than any of those. And god knows what he would unearth once he actually worked through that and got to the bottom of it. 

He stared at the door to the house and thought about going inside. He went through the motions in his mind; he’d go inside, walk upstairs into his room, and then what? He’d be lying if he said he believed even for a second that he’d be able to sleep. He turned his head and looked in the direction Charles had disappeared off into. Had he gone to sleep? Or had he gone for a walk? He’d looked pretty upset when he’d walked away.

Arthur gritted his teeth and looked back and forth between the two options before he huffed, frustrated, and started walking. 

He’d been so occupied with trying to make a decision that he’d left the lamp standing on the fountain. Which bit him in the ass not a minute later when he was trying to find his way to Charles’ tent and see if he was there without stumbling over anybody else and waking them up. 

“Charles?” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he actually saw his silhouette in the dark or if his mind was playing tricks on him.

No, something was moving. 

“You wanna lie down?”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. It took him a moment to unlace and kick off his boots and get settled. He could see Charles’ silhouette moving when he turned around to face him, but it was too dark for him to see his face. But since that meant that Charles couldn’t see his face either, Arthur didn’t mind. 

“Charles… I’m s–”

“Don’t,” Charles interrupted him with a whisper. “I’m the one that should be apologising.”

“I don’t want you to apologise.” Arthur slid his hand across the distance between them until he touched Charles’ arm. “I just… I’m…” He sighed. “What are we doing, Charles?”

“I don’t know.” Charles moved his arm so he could grab Arthur’s hand and squeezed it. Arthur squeezed back before he turned around so he was facing the other way, but he didn’t let go of Charles’ hand, so his arm was now around Arthur’s waist as it had been the other day. Fortunately, Charles understood him without words, because Arthur wasn’t sure he could’ve found them if he tried. But Charles moved closer until his chest was snug against Arthur’s back and placed his arm so Arthur could lay his head down on it. Arthur closed his eyes and turned his hand around so he could intertwine his fingers with Charles’. He could hear Charles breathing behind him, and he tried to focus on the sound of it to keep his mind from wandering. The way Charles was holding him… it felt _nice,_ and he didn’t want to think about what it meant tonight. He just wanted to enjoy it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very excited about this once! hope you guys like it!!

“Arthur, my dear boy. There you are.”

“Trelawny,” Arthur said surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Well. Hosea told me about your little… dispute with Micah. So I came here to take a look at the damage myself.”

“And? I look ravishing, don’t I?” It had been a couple of days since the fight now; the bruises under his eyes weren’t too big, but they were a deep purple and his nose was swollen awfully. 

“You don’t look your best,” Trelawny said diplomatically. “But I saw Micah before. Seems to me you must’ve won the fight.”

Even though he knew it was stupid, Arthur had to admit that it still made him feel satisfied to hear that. Micah hadn’t been talking to him – or even within earshot of him – since then. He glared at him a lot, but hey, Arthur took what he could get.

“Sorry about your poker game,” he told Trelawny.

“Sorry for me? Unless I’m mistaken, _you_ are the one missing out on a fine evening. _I’m_ still going.” 

“Yeah, I’m real sorry to miss it.”

Trelawny laughed at his sarcasm. “You should be more appreciative that I’m trying to show you all the finer things in life.”

“I appreciate the thought. How’s that sound?”

“Good enough, dear boy.” Trelawny patted his shoulder and then walked off in the direction of the camp. Arthur watched him talk to Javier for a little while, but then he turned his attention back to the wood he’d been cutting before the interruption.

But only minutes later, he was interrupted again by some yelling coming from inside the house. At first, when he heard Dutch’s voice, he assumed he’d gotten into a fight with Molly again, but then he heard a voice yelling back he hadn’t expected at all – Charles. 

His hands tightened around the grip of the axe, but he caught himself and put it down before he jogged closer to the house to figure out what was going on. The sound of Charles yelling had alarmed everyone in the vicinity, they had all turned towards it or were walking closer to see what was happening. 

But before Arthur reached the side-door, Charles burst out of it and slammed it shut behind himself, only for it to fling open again seconds later with Dutch following suit. 

“I don’t know _who you think you are_ ,” he berated Charles loudly, pointing his finger at him. “Accusing me of things like this when I’ve been nothing but–”

“I didn’t accuse you of _shit_!” Charles turned around so abruptly Dutch almost ran into him. “All I did was _ask a question_. But if you see that as an attack, then maybe you should think about what kind of lies you’ve been feeding us all.” He swatted Dutch’s hand away and turned back around, stomping off. 

Dutch stood there, mouth agape, until he caught himself and took up his pursuit again. “Lies? _Lies_?! All I’m doing here is take care of all of you! Of _my family_! You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know _anything_!”

Micah was walking closer towards them and Arthur felt his stomach turn, but luckily Hosea cut in before Micah reached them. 

“All right, that’s enough. Time to break this up.” He placed a hand on Dutch’s shoulder to keep him from following Charles. “Why don’t you go inside and calm down for a bit and I’ll go talk to Charles, okay?”

Dutch muttered something that didn’t quite reach Arthur’s ears, but the tone of voice did. 

“I know, Dutch,” Hosea said, his voice overtly calm. “I’ll talk to him.”

Dutch turned around and stomped back towards the house, glaring at Arthur as he walked past him.

Arthur was still standing in the same spot he’d been the moment Charles had come outside. The fight between them had rendered him completely incapable of moving, so instead he’d just stood there and watched.

“Arthur?”

Tilly’s voice startled him, but finally tore him out of his stupor. 

“Are you all right?” she asked him and gently placed her hand on his arm. 

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just… didn’t expect that, is all.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ expected that.” She looked in the direction where Charles and Hosea had disappeared to. “This is not like Charles at all.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Well. We’ve all been a little tense lately. I’m sure Hosea will fix it.” She smiled at him, but he could see that she didn’t fully believe her words either.

“Yeah.”

Hosea and Charles still weren’t back at camp hours later when it was starting to get dark. Arthur was sitting at the fire, restlessly poking around in it with a stick. 

“Do you know what that whole thing was about?” John asked him. “With Charles and Dutch, I mean.”

“How would I know?” Arthur asked back gruffly. 

“I don’t know.” John shrugged. “You two have been…” He eyed Arthur. “Close.”

“Well, he didn’t tell me. Okay?!”

“Sorry. Just thought you might know.”

Arthur sighed and rubbed his face, knowing fully well that he was smearing soot all over it. Truth be told, things between Charles and him had been anything _but_ close the last few days. Ever since that night they almost… God. He couldn’t even _think_ it. Ever since _that_ night they had been walking on eggshells around each other, both afraid that one wrong word would knock over the whole house of cards. Arthur had slept next to him every night, but they hadn’t talked and during the days they’d barely even looked at each other.

Charles _had_ looked more broody than usual, but hell, everyone did these days, so Arthur hadn’t thought much about it. The poker game tomorrow night with Trelawny and whoever he’d pick to replace Arthur was the first job they had in a while. After the party at the mayor’s house, they’d compiled everything they’d found out, so Arthur knew they had a couple of things lined up. But with everyone being afraid to make a wrong move and set the Pinkertons on them again, things had been stagnant. Arthur knew that Dutch was working on some plans, but he hadn’t been telling much so far. At least not to him. Seemed to be that he and Micah were closer than ever. 

“Where’d your girlfriend run off to, cowpoke?” 

“Speak of the devil,” Arthur muttered to himself. “Fuck off, Micah,” he said louder. 

“Or what? Gonna punch me again?” Micah laughed. “We could kick both of you out together. Don’t wanna be running with a bunch of fairies, anyway. Makes the darkies almost bearable.”

Arthur stood up. From the corner of his eyes he could see John and Bill shifting, ready to intervene. 

“I’m not gonna fight you, Micah,” he said, walking closer to him. “I’m gonna kill you. Not today, mind you. Probably not anytime soon. But you listen to me and you listen _good_ : You are going to die by my hand. That’s a promise.”

Not waiting for a reply, he walked past him, ramming his shoulder into Micah’s on the way, and disappeared into the house. 

He didn’t sleep well that night. Barely at all. He stood staring out the window of his room for a long time, hoping Charles and Hosea would return. When he did finally sleep, he was plagued by nightmares, worse than they had been in a long time. And other than the past couple of nights… when he woke up with a scream stuck in his throat and drenched in sweat… he woke up alone in the darkness.

The next morning, he was up before the sun. He kept himself busy around camp best as he could, but when he saw that Lenny was awake, grabbed the boy and took him hunting. 

“Arthur, don’t you think we have enough?” Lenny asked him a few hours later. “I don’t think our horses can even carry another deer.”

Arthur sighed. The boy was right. They’d gone way overboard – or, well, Arthur had. Lenny had mostly just kept him from going completely insane. 

“Let’s make a fire,” Lenny said. “We can eat here before we go back.”

He went off to gather wood while Arthur began to pluck one of the turkeys they’d shot and prepare it for them to eat. 

“Charles will be fine, you know,” Lenny said later on, while they were eating. “We’ve all had outbursts like that. Was about time he lost his control.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He kept his eyes low and continued eating.

“Also, I heard about what you said to Micah. About killing him, I mean. When you do, please let me watch. I already missed you beating the crap out of him.” Lenny chuckled. “But, man, did you. When I first saw your nose, I thought it looked bad, but compared to Micah…” He shook his head. “Must’ve felt good. I’ve wanted to punch him so many times. He’s not the only one, mind you. Been more than a few times where I wanted to punch Bill, too. But Micah? He’s so much worse.”

Lenny kept talking, and Arthur slowly relaxed, glad about the distraction. They finished eating and then put out the fire and cleaned up the place before they got on their horses and rode back to camp. 

When Arthur saw Taima’s spotted hide through the trees, his heart skipped a beat only to then continue with a thundering force. He swallowed dryly and his hands clenched tighter around the reins. 

“You can leave your horse to me,” Lenny said as he climbed off his. “I’ll take care of it and bring the deer to Pearson.”

“Thank you, Lenny.” Arthur nodded and climbed off, patting it on the neck as he walked past it to go look for Charles. John saw him coming and wordlessly pointed towards the back, past the side of the house, already knowing Arthur would be looking for Charles. Arthur followed the direction John had pointed him to and found Charles behind the house, leaning against one of the sheds. When he saw Arthur coming, he smiled at him, making the tension in Arthur’s shoulder melt away at once. 

“You’re back,” Arthur said as soon as he stood in front of Charles.

“I am.”

“Where did you go?”

“Hosea and I went riding.”

Arthur waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, he asked, “all night?”

“Well, no. But we got to talking, and it became late so we camped out.”

“What did you talk about?” 

Charles turned his head and looked out into the swamp, his hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of his vest. Arthur had never seen him do that, and he frowned lightly. 

“Arthur…” Charles sighed. “Can we… not talk about this right now? I don’t want us to fight.”

“Why would we fight?” But the question was already made redundant by the aggravated tone of voice. “What was that all about yesterday?”

“Please, Arthur.”

“Fine.” Arthur sighed and swatted a mosquito away. 

“Thank you.” Charles held his hand out but stopped just short of touching him. He looked like he was afraid Arthur would reject it. But Arthur took his hand and Charles smiled, relieved. 

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” Arthur felt his cheeks burn, almost wishing he hadn’t said it. 

“Me neither.” Charles rubbed his thumb across Arthur’s hand. 

They stood in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, until rustling footsteps tore them out of it. It was Micah. Arthur’s first instinct was to let go of Charles’ hand and try to hide it, but instead he squeezed his hand tighter and glared at Micah, silently daring him to say something. For once, though, Micah thought better of it and silently walked past them. 

“Did you two fight again?” Charles asked quietly so Micah wouldn’t hear it. 

Arthur shrugged. “I may have promised I’d kill him.”

Charles clearly tried to look disapproving, but the amusement was written in his dark eyes. 

“Arthur!” They both turned around when they heard Sadie’s words. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting for you to come take over.”

“Ah, shit.” He gave Charles an apologetic smile and squeezed his hand again before he half-jogged towards Sadie. “Sorry. I forgot it was my turn.”

“Clearly, you’ve been busy otherwise.” Her tone was stern, but she smirked when she handed him the rifle. Too embarrassed to come up with a reply, Arthur just slung the rifle over his shoulder and went to walk the perimeter. 

When he came back to camp later that evening, he saw Charles standing by Hosea’s table behind the gazebo and as he watched them talking, for a moment it reminded him of the talks Dutch and Micah had been having lately. He shook his head quickly, though. It wasn’t the same. Charles was very different from Micah. 

But it seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. As he joined the others by the fire, they were talking about it as well. 

“If it continues like this, we might have to split up,” Javier said, polishing his gun. 

“I don’t like this.” Mary-Beth was sitting beside him, a book in her hands, but it was closed. “Molly keeps talking about leaving more and more often. Everyone’s always fighting. And that whole business with the Pinkertons? It’s scary.”

“Dutch and Hosea wouldn’t split up,” John said decidedly. He looked at Arthur. “What do you think?”

“Normally I don’t think they would.” Arthur sat down on one of the crates. “But Micah’s been talking to him an awful lot lately. All secretive, too. Who knows what ideas he’s been putting in his head.”

“You mean like Charles is doing to Hosea right now?” Bill’s voice was tight.

“Charles is different.”

“Yeah, of course _you_ ’d say that,” he muttered.

“What are you trying to say?” Arthur asked sharply. John placed his hand on Arthur’s arm, silently urging him to calm down.

“I’m just saying. Maybe you’re not the most objective about Charles lately.” 

“Fine, then. _Objectively_. Why don’t you tell me how Charles is the same as Micah?”

Bill gestured to where Charles and Hosea were sitting. “Did you not _just_ say that Micah and Dutch have been conspiring? What’s this look like to you? And then that whole deal yesterday?” Bill scoffed. 

“Who here hasn’t had a fight like this with Dutch? Didn’t you punch him in the face once?”

“Fine.” Bill rolled his eyes and stood up. “Whatever you say. Charles is an angel, Micah’s the devil.” 

Arthur watched him walk off and gritted his teeth and had it not been for John’s hand that was still resting on his arm, he probably would’ve gone after him. 

“I’m _just saying_ ,” he said, turning back to the rest of the people that were still here, “Micah has given us plenty of reason to distrust him.” His voice was forced and tight, but he hoped the others would recognise his attempt to stay calm. 

“I agree with you,” Javier said. “This right there,” he pointed to Charles and Hosea, “is a lot less worrying than seeing Micah and Dutch together.”

Arthur was glad Javier had spoken up because at his words, Mary-Beth nodded enthusiastically too, so he already had two people on his side.

“You’re right about Micah and Dutch,” John said. “And look, I’d take Charles over Micah any day. But I see Bill’s point. It don’t sit right with me either.”

No one said anything after that until Javier stood up and put his gun back in his holster, saying he had to get ready to go meet Trelawny in Saint Denis. 

“Who’s going with them?” Arthur asked John. 

“Kieran,” John said after a moment of hesitation.

“ _Kieran_?! Why didn’t he take you?”

John pointed towards the scars on his cheek. “Kieran looks a lot more inconspicuous. Trelawny said it would be easiest if no one thinks twice about the person he takes. At least until they start taking all their money, I guess. And, besides, Kieran’s been with us for a while now. He’s a good guy. We can trust him.”

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed. “I just didn’t expect that, I guess.”

“So when do you think we’ll finally get to do something again? Getting kinda bored just sitting on my ass all day.”

“Well, you could try doing some work around the camp for once,” Arthur teased him.

John laughed and kicked his boot. “Ass.”

“Hey fellers!” Sadie called out to them. When they both looked at her, she held up the playing cards. “You in?”

John and Arthur both nodded and joined her, Uncle, and Pearson for a game. They played for hours, some people leaving and others joining throughout the game, but a lot of the gang also just sat close by and watched. It was fun – the most fun they had had in a very long time.

“All right. I fold.” Arthur sighed and put his cards down. “And I give up. Enough money lost for one night.” 

“Oh, come on, Arthur. A few more rounds and you’ll finance a new saddle for me,” Sadie gloated. She’d been winning most of the games all night – or all the time, actually. 

“Trelawny shoulda taken you on that riverboat. We wouldn’t even need to cheat for you to win all the money.”

“I asked him. But he said they wouldn’t let me play.” Even though she shrugged casually, her voice had a bitter tone. “Maybe if you drive a few more wagons of suffragettes around, I’ll be able to go next time.”

Arthur laughed. “If you joined them, Misses Adler, their fight would be won tomorrow.”

“Well, who knows? The way this group’s been acting lately, maybe once it all goes to shit that’ll be my new calling.”

“Don’t start packing your bags just yet,” Arthur said. “I’m not planning on giving this whole thing up too quickly.”

“Don’t worry.” Sadie smiled at him. “Me neither.”

Hosea and Charles had disbanded a while ago, but while Hosea had joined them for a few rounds of poker, Charles was sitting by himself near the fire whittling something, by the looks of it. Arthur gave his spot to Lenny so he could join the game and went to Charles. 

“What’re you making?” he asked. 

Charles shrugged. “It was supposed to be a buffalo, but I messed it up. Maybe I can make something else out of it.”

“Don’t look messed up to me.”

Charles just shrugged again but didn’t say anything else. Arthur rolled a cigarette and lit it, taking a drag before handing it off to Charles. 

“Thank you.” Charles put the knife and the little figurine down and took the cigarette from Arthur. “How was your day?”

“Went hunting with Lenny in the morning, that was fun. The poker game, too. But other than that, kinda boring.”

“We’ll be busy again soon enough.”

“‘S that what you were fighting with Dutch about? Jobs?” Charles’ shoulders dropped, making Arthur regret the question immediately. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just… I’ve never seen you this angry before.”

“I know.” Charles sighed and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ears. 

“Have you eaten?” Arthur asked to change the subject. “I think Pearson’s in a good mood today, the stew is surprisingly good.”

Charles laughed. “I haven’t eaten yet, but it sounds like I should have some.” 

After Charles came back with his meal, a few other people joined them at the fire – including Bill. Arthur was glad he didn’t seem to hold a grudge about earlier. 

“How d’you reckon Kieran’s holding up?” Bill asked them.

Arthur shook his head. “Boy’s so nervous all the time, can’t imagine he makes a good poker player.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Charles said. “He probably won’t be nearly as nervous on the riverboat without you there staring him down and talking about killing him.”

Arthur rolled his eyes while the others laughed, but he couldn’t suppress a grin either. 

  


* * *

  


Arthur poured the bucket of water into the washbasin, placing the empty bucket on the ground when he saw Charles walking towards him. He looked at the bag in Charles’ hand with a frown. “You’re leaving?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d come with me.”

“Come with you where?” Arthur asked, feeling bewildered by the smile on Charles’ face. His bad mood seemed to have disappeared completely.

“Camping.”

“Camping?”

Charles nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

Arthur’s frown deepened. He still wasn’t sure if he liked these weird secretive moods of his – even though so far the outcome had always been rather pleasant. “Where? And why? I don’t… _We_ don’t have time.”

“Just one night.”

Arthur looked at him, trying to make sense of the conversation they were having. “Why?” he asked again. 

“I just want to spend some time with you.”

Arthur felt his face redden at the exhilaration this statement made him feel. “I– um. Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Charles’ reaction in the form of a brilliant smile left Arthur frozen on the spot in a stupor for a moment. 

“I… do I… do I need to take anything?” he stammered out, eventually. 

Charles shook his head. “Only if there’s something you wanna take. But I already got everything we need.”

“How did you know I was gonna say yes?” Arthur asked and narrowed his eyes, even though Charles’ visible happiness had already infected him. 

Charles shrugged. “Wishful thinking.”

Arthur went to grab his satchel with his essentials, and only a few minutes later he was riding out of the camp behind Charles and Taima. 

“So, where are we going?” he asked a little while later.

“Not far. Just some spot I came across once on a hunt.”

They rode along the street for a while, before Charles led them into the forest where they followed a small stream.

“It’s right over there.” Charles pointed a little further down the stream where it opened into a pond, a large, flat rock protruding over it from the small hill beside it. They dismounted from their horses and Charles saw to setting up the tent while Arthur started on the fire. 

While he was piling the wood Arthur noticed that his hands were shaking and he forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Was Charles as nervous as he was? Most of the time he seemed so secure in everything that had been happening between them, but there had been a few situations that made Arthur think that on the inside, Charles was just as unsure as he was. 

“How’s it coming along?”

Arthur winced. He hadn’t heard Charles walking closer. “Fine,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly when he noticed how hoarse his voice was. 

Charles sat down next to him, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees. When the fire was burning, Arthur sat back as well. His pulse was hammering and his hands felt clammy, but at least they had stopped shaking. He looked over at Charles’ hands, too nervous to look at his face. Charles had one hand wrapped around the opposite wrist, the index finger of his free hand erratically tapping onto his shin. 

Slowly, Arthur let his gaze wander higher, seeing the muscles in Charles’ bare forearm twitch in rhythm with his finger, across his broad shoulders until he eventually arrived at his face. He was looking straight ahead but his jaw was moving; it looked like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. His stubble was a little longer than he usually let it get. Had it been a conscious decision, Arthur wondered, or had he just been too occupied with other things? 

Arthur’s eyes moved to Charles’ lips and his skin prickled. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Right at that moment, Charles turned his head to look at him. Arthur felt himself blushing deeply, but he looked up to meet Charles’ eyes. They narrowed slightly when Charles smiled, and Arthur’s heart really seemed to be trying to jump out of his chest by now. 

“Thank you for coming with me.” Charles’ smile wavered a little, and Arthur could see the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. Arthur couldn’t find his own voice; all he managed was a smile – which he hoped didn’t look as dopey as it felt. 

Both of them averted their eyes, looking into the fire instead, as silence stretched between them. It wasn’t anything new, their sitting next to each other and not talking, but never before had it been this awkward. The air between them felt charged and the longer neither of them moved, the worse it got. But before it became completely unbearable, Arthur’s stomach growled loudly. The sound broke the tension between them and they started laughing loudly, more out of relief than humour. 

“Alright then,” Charles said and stood up. “Clearly, it’s time for dinner.” He grabbed one of the bags from the tent and then sat down next to Arthur again. They ate in silence, but without the awkwardness from before. 

After they had eaten, they pulled the sleeping mats halfway out of the tent, so they could sit more comfortably by the fire.

Night fell quickly around them. For once, though, the surrounding darkness wasn’t prominent in Arthur’s mind. The fire crackled and every now and then a few sparks shot skywards. Arthur tried to keep his eyes trained on the fire, but he caught himself glancing over at Charles a lot. He was leaning on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. Their thighs were touching and Arthur felt as if the heat of it was radiating through his entire body. He hadn’t consciously noticed that he’d slipped up and looked at Charles instead of the fire again until Charles looked right back at him and Arthur snapped out of his thoughts as if a bolt of lightning had hit him. 

Charles moved to sit upright, now leaning on his hand, his body half-turned towards Arthur. Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat and he stared wide-eyed at Charles.

“You look terrified,” Charles said, amused. “Am I that scary?”

Arthur watched Charles’ lips move when he spoke. He let out a breathy laugh in response, but that was all he could manage.

Charles shifted, turning his body a little more, leaning in even closer. Arthur was still staring at his lips. His mind was racing so fast he couldn’t catch a clear thought. He felt Charles’ breath brush over his skin – and panicked, flinching away. His chest constricted painfully, and he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away from Charles. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

Next to him, he could hear Charles exhale slowly – almost like he was trying to hide a disappointed sigh but failed. 

“Charles…” Arthur’s voice sounded raw, pained, but he couldn’t help it. 

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur shook his head and sighed, exasperated. He shifted uncomfortably, burying his face in his hands for a second and then rubbing it, trying to force his mind to work. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before,” he managed to get out eventually. 

“Kissed?”

“A _man_.” He pressed his palms against his eyes, digging his fingernails into his scalp for a moment before he relaxed his fingers again and put his hands down. “Have you?” he asked when Charles didn’t say anything else.

“No.”

Arthur had to grab onto the fabric of his pants to keep himself from burying his face in his hands again. He breathed a few times. Slowly, deliberately. 

Charles wasn’t looking at him when Arthur raised his head. He was staring off into the distance. He looked hurt.

“Charles,” Arthur said hoarsely, clinging onto every last ounce of courage he could gather. Charles turned his head and looked at him. Arthur’s pulse was beating so loudly in his ears he could barely hear his own voice when he finally managed to get the words out. 

“Kiss me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your comments!!  
> they really mean the world to me xx

Arthur’s head was swimming. 

He felt as if his consciousness was suddenly pulled back into his body after having lost all control and floating somewhere above it. 

The moment Charles’ lips had touched his, something between them had shattered and all the caution and restraint was gone and they’d lost themselves in an animalistic frenzy. 

But their movements slowed down eventually, with the pent up urgency out of their systems. Both of them were breathing heavily, catching their breath in between soft, fluttering kisses; lips barely more than brushing against each other. 

Charles slid his hand from around Arthur’s neck to the side of his face and Arthur placed his own hand on top of it, turning his face into the touch and pressing his lips against Charles’ palm. 

Neither of them spoke a single word while they unlaced their boots and shucked off their overshirts before settling into the tent. They both laid down on their side, facing each other. Charles moved his hand slightly, touching Arthur’s fingers with his own, before he scooted closer so he could kiss Arthur again. 

“Does it feel weird to you?” Arthur murmured against Charles’ lips. “Kissing another man, I mean.”

Charles shook his head. “No. You?”

“I thought it might. But it don’t.” He bridged the gap between their lips and kissed Charles again. “It’s nice.”

Charles hummed in agreement, snaking his arm around Arthur’s waist and tugging him closer. The flap of the tent was open, a light breeze was coming inside, rustling the tent and Arthur’s skin prickled with goosebumps despite the wind not being cold at all. Charles was chewing on his bottom lip, drawing Arthur’s eyes to it. He felt himself flush when he thought about how his lips had felt against his own. 

Charles was running his finger across the back of Arthur’s hand, drawing aimless patterns on it until Arthur turned his hand around and closed it around Charles’. “What’re you thinking about?”

Charles hesitated for a moment before he answered, looking down at their hands. “Just that… this night turned out better than I dared to hope for.” He glanced up at Arthur through his eyelashes, smiling sheepishly at him. 

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, feeling embarrassed for the way his heart raced when Charles said that. He didn’t know what to reply, so he tightened his grip around Charles’ hand, squeezing it once. Charles got the message – his smile turned happier, less embarrassed, and he squeezed back. 

  


* * *

  


The next morning, Arthur was awoken by the feeling of fingers brushing through his hair. He moved his head into the touch and hummed comfortably. Memories of last night flooded his brain, and he slowly opened his eyes. His head was resting on Charles’ chest and when he tilted his head back to look at him and Charles noticed he was awake, Arthur could hear the thumping of his heart speed up. 

Charles smiled shyly at him, his fingers stilling. “Good morning,” he whispered. 

Arthur didn’t trust his voice to work, so he pushed himself higher and pressed his lips against Charles’. The feeling of Charles smiling against him made his heart flutter, and he deepened their kiss. He pushed himself up on one elbow so he was leaning over Charles, pushing him down onto his sleeping mat. Charles buried one hand in Arthur’s hair, the other sliding down over his back until it settled on his waist. Just like last night, once they started kissing, it felt nearly impossible to stop. At least until other bodily functions became too urgent to be ignored any longer. 

Arthur pulled back and grimaced. “I have to piss.”

Charles laughed. “Me too. Really badly, actually. I was just gonna wait until you wake up, but then you had to distract me.”

Arthur snorted and pushed himself off Charles to leave the tent. He stretched himself, popping the joints in his elbows and his back, walking up to a tree a little way off. It was warm already, but the air here was fresher and less humid than it was back at camp. After he finished his business, he went to check on the horses before he walked back to their campsite.

Charles was crouching by the firepit, he’d gotten the flames started again and was brewing coffee.

“You hungry?” he asked Arthur when he heard him come closer. “The food’s in the bag over there.”

“Thank you.” Arthur sat down and pulled the bag on his lap, looking through their provisions. “I thought we were only staying for one night,” he said when he saw how much food Charles had brought. “Are you planning on kidnapping me?”

“I don’t think I’d have to.” Charles turned his head to grin at him. “Pretty sure I could make you follow me voluntarily.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at him, but of course Charles was right. It wouldn’t take a lot. He grabbed some bread and dried meat before handing the bag to Charles. When they had finished eating and the coffee was done, they each had a cup and smoked a cigarette before Charles stood up and walked over to the edge of the rock. He looked down at the water and then back at Arthur.

“You wanna go for a swim?”

“Swimming? Really?”

Charles shrugged. “Why not? It’s still early. We don’t have to leave just yet.”

“I’m horrible at swimming,” Arthur said. And he didn’t like it either. Usually, at least. For some reason, though, the thought of getting into the water with Charles didn’t seem all that bad. 

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you drown. Come on.” Charles held out his hand and when Arthur took it, pulled him up on his feet. Charles skipped down the hill barefoot, with a lightness someone as broad as him shouldn’t have been able to put forward. He’d stripped off all his clothes and dove into the water before Arthur had even made it to the waterside. Arthur stood there and watched him for a moment. The pond wasn’t very big, Charles made it to the other side with only a couple of strokes before he turned around and looked at Arthur. 

“Are you just gonna stand there watching me?” he called out. 

“I might,” Arthur muttered to himself, not loud enough for Charles to hear it. It did sound tempting. The sunrays that were shining through the treetops made Charles’ wet skin glisten, and the way his muscles moved under his skin when he started swimming again awakened a part of Arthur he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Come on now.” Charles stopped a couple of feet away from the shoreline and held his hand out towards Arthur, beckoning him closer. The dark line of hair trailing down from his navel until it disappeared below the surface of the water drew Arthur’s eyes to it like a magnet. 

He stripped out of his clothes with a lot less grace than Charles had and tossed them next to the pile of Charles’ clothes before he waded into the water. Charles was still holding out his hand and as soon as Arthur was close enough, grabbed his and pulled him in for a kiss. Arthur nearly lost his balance, crashing against Charles. Their naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of lightning down his spine and he moaned, surprised. Charles’ tongue slipped into his mouth and Arthur let his hands glide across the sides of Charles’ stomach. He felt the muscles quiver slightly and pressed his hands against him firmer, not intending to tickle him. He felt dizzy, completely lost in the sensations until Charles suddenly pulled away and let himself fall into the water, doing a couple of backstrokes before standing up again and smirking at Arthur.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Arthur groaned, his body all but aching at the sudden loss of contact. 

“You want more? Come get me, then.” Charles winked at him and swam in a large circle around Arthur, just out of reach. Arthur knew he didn’t have a chance in hell to catch him if he swam as well, so instead he decided to stay on foot – the hip-deep water made that a challenge as well, though, splashing all around them whenever Arthur tried to lunge at Charles. 

Charles slipped away from him easily, taunting him whenever he missed, but Arthur enjoyed the playful mood Charles was in a lot more than he minded the teasing. 

He wasn’t entirely sure if Charles let him catch him on purpose or if he just lucked out, but eventually he managed to grab a hold of him. They both were out of breath as Arthur pulled Charles closer, so his back was pressed against Arthur’s chest, wrapping his arms around him so Charles couldn’t move his. 

“Caught you,” Arthur murmured, leaning in so close that his lips brushed against Charles’ ear. 

“So you did.” Charles’ voice shook a little, but he brazenly arched his body against Arthur’s. “But what are you gonna do with me now?”

Arthur exhaled shakily before he pressed his lips against Charles’ neck, kissing his way lower until he sunk his teeth right into the junction to his shoulder. Charles moaned, surprised, his body bucking against Arthur’s arms for a moment, but he tipped his head aside, baring his neck more. 

Had Arthur not been holding onto Charles as tightly as he was, he would’ve been trembling like a leaf. He kissed the spot he’d just bit, brushing his lips across Charles’ skin before biting again. He adjusted his hands, pressing his palms flat against Charles’ body. One hand was resting right below his chest and he slid it higher, feeling the bulge of his muscles. Arthur didn’t know what he was doing, he was led completely by instinct and the all-consuming desire to touch Charles. His thumb brushed across Charles’ nipple – not even on purpose – and Charles gasped and squirmed again; the way his ass pressed against Arthur’s crotch nearly made his knees buckle.

Charles groaned his name, leaning into his touches and kisses for another few moments before he suddenly baulked, freeing himself from Arthur’s embrace. He turned around and pulled him into a hard kiss, fingers curling tightly in Arthur’s hair. Charles looked at him with a hunger in his eyes that made Arthur’s knees feel weak. Charles pulled him towards the shore and out of the water, pushing him down onto the grass. Arthur was glad he was lying down already, because just the split second glance of Charles standing above him in all his naked glory was enough to make his legs turn to rubber. Charles straddled his thighs and kissed him greedily; first his lips, but then quickly let his mouth wander lower, across Arthur’s neck and his chest. Arthur was squirming beneath him, his breath coming out in raspy gasps. Charles closed his lips around one of Arthur’s nipples and bit down on it, sending a shock-wave of pleasure and pain through his body. Arthur’s hand snapped forward, grabbing onto Charles’ hair, but Charles quickly pinned his arms to the ground above Arthur’s head. Arthur writhed under him, the knowledge that Charles could easily hold him down, even if he put his whole strength into it, only spurning him on even more. Charles’ thighs were squeezing him tightly and the way he was leaning across Arthur to pin his wrists in place pressed their bodies firmly together. Arthur bucked his hips, feeling his erection slide against Charles’ and both of them shuddered.

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, rutting his hips against Arthur’s. He shifted his weight slightly, pressing Arthur’s wrists firmer into the ground, and snaked his other hand between their bodies. Arthur cursed breathlessly when Charles wrapped his fingers around both of their cocks, squeezing them together. 

Every muscle in Arthur’s body was taut. Charles’ hand was jammed tightly between their bodies, but it didn’t take more than the slightest of movements to draw a moan out of both of them. Arthur’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his entire body tensed even more before he exploded with a curse. Pleasure washed over him and he heard Charles gasp out his name and moments later, his body twitched against Arthur’s. 

Charles collapsed on top of him, neither of them moving for a long while, both just trying to catch their breath. Eventually, Charles rolled off him, letting himself fall onto his back. For a long time, there was only the sound of their breathing and the rustling of the forest around them. 

“So you really are trying to kill me,” Arthur said when he found his voice again. He turned his head to the side so he could look at Charles, but still didn’t manage to move more than that.

Charles laughed breathlessly. He had his eyes closed, his head tilted back slightly to welcome a ray of sunlight on his face. 

Arthur’s eyelids felt heavy, but before he could fall asleep, he rolled onto his side with a tired groan, pushing himself up on one elbow. Charles opened one eye to glance at him for a moment, but then closed it again. His chest was moving evenly with deep breaths again now, and Arthur couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and touching him. Charles made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, but then sighed contentedly. 

Arthur leaned in for a soft kiss, but then pulled back again so he could look at Charles. He had one arm bent behind his head, his hair feathered out behind. 

“Stop looking at me,” Charles muttered.

“How would you know? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.” He blindly reached up with his free hand, trying to find Arthur’s face to push it away. Arthur laughed and grabbed his hand, pressing a kiss against his palm before he put it down, holding onto it. 

“I like looking at you.” Saying this made Arthur feel embarrassed – more than anything that had just happened between them. He inched closer towards Charles and let go of his hand, trailing his fingers across Charles’ thigh instead. He glanced up at Charles’ face to see if his eyes were still closed and when he saw that they were, let his gaze trail lower again. 

He’d seen other men naked before, of course. Living the way he did, he probably couldn’t have avoided it even if he tried. He’d never really _looked_ at one, though. Charles’ thigh twitched slightly under his touch and he felt hot all over again when he remembered how they had felt squeezing at his sides. 

He was a lot less hairy than Arthur; his chest was almost completely smooth and the hair on his legs trailed off around halfway up his thighs. Arthur moved his hand towards the inside of Charles’ thigh and slightly higher. The back of his hand brushed against Charles’ balls and Charles made a rumbling sound. Watching Charles’ face closely, Arthur turned his hand around and cupped them. 

“And you accuse me of trying to kill _you_ ,” he muttered and squinted at Arthur.

Despite his words, Arthur could see his cock twitch. He rolled Charles’ balls in his hand – feeling odd doing so, but spurred on by curiosity. Charles squirmed, but sighed quietly and closed his eyes again. 

Emboldened by Charles’ physical reaction, Arthur wrapped his hand around Charles’ cock, not moving it yet, just wondering what it would feel like. 

“Arthur…” Charles shuddered. “I can’t.”

“Don’t feel true to me,” Arthur said, feeling it stiffen slightly, but glanced up at Charles’ face. “Do you want me to stop?”

Charles seemed to ponder about it for a moment, but then he shook his head. He moved his hips a little, shallowly thrusting into Arthur’s hand. 

Arthur didn’t know what he had expected it to be like, but it was exhilarating. Even though there wasn’t any new anatomy to deal with, in a lot of ways it was thrilling in the same way as it had been the first time he’d touched a woman. But, despite there being plenty of ways Charles made him nervous, not nearly as terrifying as it had been with that woman. 

Charles kept his eyes closed and his hands away, letting Arthur explore this in his own pace. Arthur watched him with fascination, spurred on by every sound he managed to elicit from him. Before, he had been too occupied with his own climax, but this time he could direct all his attention to Charles, watching his face twist with pleasure, his muscles tense and feeling his cock twitch in his hand as it spilled onto his stomach.

Charles was lying very still for a while, but just when Arthur thought that he might have fallen asleep, he yawned and stretched himself. 

“We should probably leave soon,” he said and sat up, running his fingers through his hair and working out some tangles. 

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed. “But we should wash up first,” he added, glancing at the dried mess on Charles’ stomach and his own.

“That’s probably a good idea.” Charles laughed. “Although we might just give Micah a heart attack if we show up like this.”

“Oh, definitely. We should ride into camp naked.”

“On one horse.”

Not wanting to get completely wet again when they would have to get dressed after, they crouched down at the edge of the water and cleaned themselves up before walking around the pond to the other side and picked up their clothes. 

When they had packed up all their things and were ready to leave, Arthur stopped and turned to look at the now again barren rock, feeling almost wistful. Charles grabbed his hand and squeezed once, smiling softly when Arthur turned to look at him.

“You all right?”

Arthur nodded and squeezed back. “Just feels weird, is all. Going back to the real world.”

“Yeah.” Charles sighed. “I know what you mean.”

They secured their baggage on the horses and mounted up, riding back towards camp in silence.

  


* * *

  


Arriving at Shady Belle, Arthur felt weird and stiff. Bill calling out to them as they approached startled him so much he scared his poor horse. Charles shot him a worried glance but then smiled encouragingly. 

He didn’t feel ready to face everyone yet, so when he stopped his horse and dismounted, he unsaddled it and brushed it thoroughly to buy himself some time before he went any further. Charles had already gone ahead, sensing that Arthur needed some time for himself. 

It really did feel like he was entering the real world again after spending the past day in some sort of alternate reality. 

He brushed the last bits of dirt from his horse’s coat and then sighed, patting its neck. “We shoulda just stayed out there in the forest, don’t’ya think?” 

He only got a snort in response and sighed, stroking its nose for a little while and fed it a sugar cube he fished from his satchel, before he braced himself and walked into the camp. It was oddly quiet and looked emptier than it had been in a long time and for a moment he wondered if someone had found some job and had taken a couple of people somewhere. 

He couldn’t see Charles at first glance, but didn’t go looking for him either. He didn’t really know where he should go, but didn’t want to stop and stand around like a dunce either, so he just pushed the front door open and walked into the house. 

He’d barely taken a step inside when Tilly called out his name. She hurried closer to him and took his arm. “Will you walk with me for a bit?”

“Sure.” He was relieved actually about having something to do, but at the same time, the tone of Tilly’s voice worried him.

“You two chose a good night to go away,” she said glumly. 

“What happened?” Arthur frowned deeply. 

“Dutch and Molly had a big fight. Real awful.” She tightened her hold on Arthur’s arm and shook her head. “I’ve never seen Dutch like that.” 

“Is Molly all right?”

“She was crying a lot after. Sadie took her away for a little bit.”

“So they’re gone?”

“Yeah.” Tilly stopped walking and turned to face the river. She let go of him, wrapping her arms around herself instead. “Micah was talking with Dutch for a long time after,” she added then. “I didn’t like the look he had on his face when he came back, either.”

Arthur sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around, Tilly.”

“No, don’t be.” She smiled softly. “Did you have a good time?”

His face burned hot instantly, and he hoped that it didn’t look as red as it felt. “Yeah,” he said awkwardly. 

Her expression looked a little mischievous for a moment, but she quickly changed it to her usual sweet smile. “That’s nice.”

They walked along the side of the river back towards camp. Just as they turned around the corner of the house, John and Bill came riding in. 

“You’re back,” John said to him while he jumped off his horse. His face was neutral but – and maybe Arthur was just being paranoid here – his eyes seemed to linger a little too long before he turned to Tilly. “Did you already catch him up on what happened last night?” When she nodded, John turned back to Arthur again, placing his hand on his upper arm, gesturing for him to follow along. “Have you seen Hosea? He wanted to talk to Charles as soon as you two came back.”

“I haven’t, but Charles might have. I haven’t seen him since we got back.”

“What? One night and he’s already sick of you?” John laughed and Arthur punched him in the arm, but he felt relieved that John was joking around the subject like he would have with anything else. 

John led him inside the house and into the room to the right where he pulled up some papers. “So, Trelawny’s poker game turned out to be pretty lucrative. They got some decent money from there. But Dutch is really pushy about that Trolley Station. Bill said Angelo Bronte talked about that one at that thing in Saint Denis you went to…?” He ended the sentence in a questioning tone and looked at Arthur to confirm. When Arthur nodded, he continued. “Hosea said he’s not feeling too good about it, and I know you don’t either. He said that he and Charles have some other things they’re checking out, but he was real vague about it. I think that’s what he wanted to talk to Charles about. You know, before telling us about it. Has Charles mentioned anything to you?”

“No. We didn’t, uh… we didn’t really talk about jobs.”

He could tell that John had another biting comment on the tip of his tongue, but then he just shook his head and waved off. “Don’t really matter. Hosea said he’d let us know as soon as they know anything more definitive. If they have a good lead, I think we can probably convince Dutch to hold off on the trolley station.”

Arthur nodded, but furrowed his brows at the same time. “When did you all talk about this? Last night?” It left a bitter feeling in his mouth; after having everyone sit around with their thumbs up their asses for so long, Dutch chose the one night he wasn’t around to talk strategies?

“Yeah. Well, kind of, anyway. Bill and I got fed up just sitting around with all these weird little fractions that have been happening lately, so we pieced together what we could and asked Hosea what else he knows. Dutch was… well. Tilly told you.” He sighed and pushed his hat back, scratching his scalp before pulling it into position again. “It’s a fucking mess. Everything’s going to shit.” 

The two of them were silent for a moment, both brooding over the current state of affairs, but then John placed the papers back on the table. “Anyway. Not much to do right now except wait and see what Hosea and Charles came up with.” He sighed exasperated and shook his head. “There’s been way too much waiting around lately. Makes me feel itchy all over.”

Mood around the camp was tense that evening. Most of the gang had dispersed during the day, and even now that they were all coming back, it was silent and gloomy. 

Arthur was sitting at the fire, digging in the dirt with the tip of his boot. He hadn’t spoken to Charles since they’d arrived back here. He wanted to, but since coming back he was just as apprehensive and inhibited as he had been before. 

He knew Charles had talked to Hosea because he’d seen them together after talking to John, but he had busied himself with work around the camp instead of going to talk to him. He’d felt Charles’ eyes on him a couple of times, but he hadn’t come up to Arthur to talk to him either. 

He was in the middle of cutting some wood – even though it wasn’t actually necessary, there was already a big pile readied – when Hosea called out his name and gestured to him to come over. As they walked across the camp towards Hosea’s table, Arthur suddenly realised how little he’d seen of him lately.

John was sitting on the chair, digging out some dirt from under his fingernails while Charles was leaning against the table on the opposite side, arms crossed in front of his chest. Arthur met his eyes for a moment, before turning to Hosea.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked him.

“Charles has a good lead about the bank in Rhodes,” Hosea said, “but before that, there’s something else. Something more important, if you ask me. Do you remember at the mayor’s party, there was an Indian chief?”

Arthur nodded. He remembered Bronte pointing him out to them. And also the insults that had followed.

“Charles and I… ran into him… the other night.” The way he said it made it sound like there was more to it than that, but Arthur decided not to ask, and instead listen to what Hosea wanted to tell him. “–He actually recognised us. Do you remember after we left Colter? On our way to Horseshoe Overlook? We saw them standing on the ledge.”

Arthur did remember, although it seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Anyway, we came to talking and they could really use our help.”

“With what?”

“Leviticus Cornwall. They have been pushed around and abused repeatedly – and now they’re being forced to move again. They’re certain it has to do with oil, but they need help getting the proof.”

“And they want us to get that proof for them? Like we don’t have enough problems of our own?”

“Arthur.” Charles shook his head, disapproving of his words. He looked hurt.

Arthur suppressed a groan, wishing he could take back that last sentence. “I know, I know. Of course we’ll do it. Do we have a plan?”

Charles nodded in thanks, but his expression was still very dark.

“The chief – Rains Fall – said there had been prospectors on their lands a few months ago. There should be reports of that. His son, Eagle Flies, will meet with you near Citadel Rock, west of the oil fields.”

“Just me?”

Hosea nodded. “I think more people would make it riskier. Can you go tomorrow? Meet him there by nightfall.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Arthur. In the meantime, John will talk to Dutch about the Rhodes bank job Charles found. See if he’s willing to let go of that damn Trolley Station.”

“Why don’t _you_ talk to him?” 

Hosea sighed and averted his eyes, looking past Arthur while he spoke. “Things have been… difficult between Dutch and me. I don’t think it’d do much good.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. He could see that his question had hurt Hosea, but he just felt mad. Whether he was mad at Dutch or Hosea or at the whole goddamn world, he didn’t know. Probably the last one, though.

Hosea patted his shoulder while he walked away and John followed him silently, so now only Arthur and Charles were left. 

“He offered us money,” Charles said somberly. “Rains Fall, I mean. But I told him to keep it.” His eyes were hard; silently challenging Arthur to defy his decision. But Arthur didn’t feel like doing so. He couldn’t say if he would’ve done the same – although he wanted to think so – but he wouldn’t have expected Charles to do any differently. 

“I’m sorry for what I said, Charles. I didn’t– I didn’t mean that I don’t want to help them.”

Charles sighed, and his eyes softened again. “Thank you, Arthur.” He held out his hand and Arthur took it, his body relaxing noticeably just from this small touch. Feeling his heart beating in his throat, Arthur moved closer to Charles. Even though he tried to ignore it, he was acutely aware of the people sitting around the fire and that Charles and he were visible to others. Still, he didn’t like how sad Charles’ eyes looked, so he squeezed his hand, bringing up his other hand and touching Charles’ face. 

“I’ll get them reports,” he said, nodding firmly. 

Charles smiled softly at him, turning his head so he could press a kiss against Arthur’s palm. “I know you will.”


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur met Eagle Flies on a clifftop near the factory. They only talked briefly, Eagle Flies explaining to him where he’d find what he was looking for and how to best get inside before Arthur went off to do so. 

He hid in the back of a wagon that was on its way into the factory. Once he was inside the fence, he snuck inside the main building to find the office Eagle Flies had talked about. He reached it without anyone spotting him.

“You must be Danbury,” he said to the man inside and jammed a chair under the doorknob. “Quieten yourself, friend, and this won’t take long.”

He walked closer to the heavy wooden desk that was covered in papers before grabbing the man by the collar and dragging him across it and letting him fall to the floor on the other side. “Danbury.”

“Yes?” The man’s voice was shaky, and he had one arm raised protectively in front of himself.

“I need some papers, my friend. Nothing important. A file. I’m from head office.”

“You’re not from head office!”

“Does that seem important right now?” Arthur asked, his voice sharper than before. He just wanted to get that godforsaken document and get out of here. “I need a file by the Leland Oil Development Company. The one about the oil near Wapiti.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word very clearly, but his tone let his impatience show. He stepped closer to Danbury, who was still cowering on the floor in front of him. 

Danbury stammered uselessly, not getting any words out, and Arthur punched him in the face. 

“Danbury… _think,_ man. A mind is a terrible thing to lose. Especially over such a nice floor as this.” He grabbed the front of Danbury’s jacket and pulled him on his feet. 

“It’s here! It’s here!” Danbury whimpered hastily. He walked back towards the desk and pulled a document pouch from the top drawer and put it down before hastily stepping back, raising his hands.

“You done good, Danbury. Real good.” Arthur picked it up and slid it into the inside pocket of his coat. “They’ll give you a promotion for this.”

He barely had time to feel relieved about getting the documents before they were interrupted when someone rattled the door handle.

“Danbury?” A man called out from behind the door. “Danbury, you okay?”

“Tell the guard you’re fine.” 

Danbury’s hands shook at Arthur’s low growl of a voice, but he obeyed immediately. “Yes!” he answered the guard. “It’s just… I’m working. All’s fine.”

“Now stay quiet,” Arthur commanded while he made his way towards the window. “Or head office will send me back to get’cha.”

He climbed out of the window and slid down the slanted roof before jumping to the ground below. He’d barely landed when someone started shouting and three men ran closer, aiming their rifles at him.

Goddammit.

“Weapons on the ground and hands in the air!” the one standing in the middle barked.

“Easy now, fellers,” Arthur said, raising his right hand, while his left, hidden from their eyes, snaked towards his holster.

“Now! We won’t tell you again!”

  


* * *

  


“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur waved off. “I’ll be fine.” He grunted when Eagle Flies pulled the bandage tighter “That’ll hold up. Thank you.”

“Thank _you_. I hope those documents will help,” Eagle Flies said, but he didn’t look very optimistic. 

They said some awkward goodbyes and then each went their way. Arthur stopped a few hours later when he’d made some good distance and set up camp. He couldn’t fall asleep, but rested up for a while before he finished his way back to Shady Belle. 

It was already getting dark again by the time he arrived. It was only when he got off his horse and walked into camp that he realised that he hadn’t eaten all day. He walked straight to the cooking fire, foregoing the leftover provisions in his satchel in favour of something warm. 

He was so absorbed in his meal that startled when Charles suddenly touched his arm. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur waved off. “Little hiccup on the way out of the factory, but it’s alright. Gave the documents to Eagle Flies.” 

Charles made a dissatisfied sound and then walked away, but returned a little while later with a bowl of hot water, a cloth and one of the medicine chests. He motioned for Arthur to free up his arm, so Arthur opened the buttons of his union suit and peeled it off his arm – quite literally, since it was stuck to his skin and the makeshift bandage with dried blood. 

Charles untied the cloth strip and then wrung out the cloth over it, drenching it with water to start unsticking it from the gash. 

“Didn’t you have anything to stitch this?” he muttered angrily. Arthur looked at him and frowned lightly.

“Did something happen while I was gone?”

Charles shot him a questioning look before turning his attention back to Arthur’s arm.

“You’re angry.”

“Maybe I’m just angry you’re not taking better care of yourself.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think that’s it.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, but Charles just grunted noncommittally without looking at him. Arthur conceded and didn’t press any further. He pulled a flask of bourbon from his satchel, taking a few sips when Charles began to stitch. He really hated getting stitched up, but Charles looked mad enough, so Arthur didn’t think it was worth starting an argument over. 

“Hold on,” he said when Charles finished up and was already about to walk away. He grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him back. “Thank you.” 

Finally, Charles’ expression softened a little. “You’re welcome.”

Arthur slipped back into the sleeves and buttoned it up again, but the fabric around his left arm was stiff from the dried blood and he grimaced, but finished eating his food before he headed inside to get changed. But at the foot of the stairs, he was almost run over by Hosea. 

“Woah, hey, what’s going on?” Arthur asked when he saw the angry expression on Hosea’s face. 

“Dutch.” Hosea huffed and shook his head. “I’ve been trying to talk to him since last night, but he won’t see anyone. Except Micah, of course.” 

Before Arthur could reply, Hosea stormed past him and out the back door, slamming it shut loudly behind himself. Rubbing his face tiredly, Arthur went upstairs. He knocked on Dutch’s door – but just as Hosea had said, Dutch just called through the door that he was busy and when Arthur opened the door, Micah was there in a matter of seconds, all but shoving him back into the hallway.

He wasn’t in a mood to argue – he’d really just wanted to check – so he turned and walked away, but the situation didn’t sit right with him. The door to his room was open, but Arthur didn’t think much of it. He assumed somebody had gone in to grab some munition to go hunting, but instead he walked inside to see Charles standing there, holding a picture in his hands. When Arthur stepped closer, he saw that it was a picture of him, Dutch and Hosea from years ago. 

“Sorry,” Charles said and put the picture down. “I didn’t come up here to go through your stuff.”

“It’s alright.” 

Arthur hesitated for a moment, but then he wrapped his arms around Charles’ waist from behind and placed his chin on his shoulder. Charles leaned against him and reached up to touch his face. 

They hadn’t really talked about how to handle things around camp. Of course, most, if not everyone, had at least an idea of what was going on between them, but it was still mostly unspoken. Hell, Arthur wasn’t even sure himself. 

He didn’t want to talk about technicalities, though. At the end of the day, what did it even matter?

“I’m sorry I was curt with you earlier,” Charles said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Arthur turned his head and placed a kiss below Charles’ ear. “You were still nicer than some of the people here on their best days.”

Charles laughed. “I guess that’s true.” He tilted his head, pushing his neck closer to Arthur, so he’d kiss it again, and then hummed appreciatively when he did. He turned around in Arthur’s arms, hugged him closer and kissed him on the mouth. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur murmured against Charles’ lips when he started to unbutton his shirt. 

“I want to try something.”

Before Arthur could ask any further, Charles deepened the kiss, pushed his tongue past Arthur’s lips and made his mind go blank. He urged Arthur towards the cot, sliding the union suit down over his shoulders and undoing the fly of his pants. He pushed Arthur’s pants down his legs and nudged him to sit on the edge of the cot, sinking down on his knees between Arthur’s legs at the same time. Arthur stared at him wide-eyed, still unable to catch a clear thought. Charles undid the laces of his boots with nimble fingers, pulling them off and tossing them aside, doing the same with the remainder of his clothes, and then looked up and smiled at him before pushing himself up to kiss him on the lips. 

As he leaned in closer to deepen the kiss, Arthur felt his body heat at the way Charles’ clothes brushed against him and he squirmed. Charles nibbled on Arthur’s bottom lip, snaking his left hand between their bodies and wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s hardening cock. 

“Fuck,” Arthur choked out. “Charles–” He interrupted himself with a groan when Charles squeezed the base of his cock and slowly moved his hand.

Charles licked along Arthur’s jaw before sucking and kissing his way down his neck. “You want me to stop?”

Arthur shook his head rapidly, biting his tongue to keep himself from cursing out loud when Charles licked across his nipple. “No,” he gasped. “God, no.”

Charles hummed approvingly, using his free hand to push Arthur’s knees apart a little further. Arthur could hear him shifting around and opened his eyes. At the sight before him, Arthur nearly lost his mind. Charles was wantonly looking up at him between his dark lashes, his eyes looking completely black. He opened his mouth and circled his tongue around the head of Arthur’s cock without breaking eye contact. Arthur’s head fell back against the wall with a thud and his fingers clenched around the edge of the cot. He groaned Charles’ name, desperately trying to keep himself from squirming too much, but Charles’ tongue was relentless. 

“Fuck, Charles,” Arthur hissed, burying one of his hands in Charles’ soft hair. Charles moaned, his breath stroking across Arthur’s erection, but then he finally closed his lips around it. Arthur screwed his eyes shut, the back of his head pressed against the wall. He tried to force his fingers to relax, but the feeling of Charles’ soft mouth wrapped around him brought him to the edge quickly. His fist clenched shut, making Charles moan at the pain. Arthur choked out a quick warning, but he barely got the words out when he was pushed over the edge. 

Charles kept still, but feeling his tongue and throat moving as he swallowed made Arthur’s ears ring. He shuddered and slacked against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He could hear Charles breathing heavily as well, and he barely managed to gather the energy to move his hand that was still tangled in Charles’ hair enough to caress the back of his head. 

Charles hummed approvingly and leaned his head into the touch for a moment before he pushed himself up to sit next to Arthur. The cot creaked under combined weight, but it held up. 

“Are you asleep?” Charles whispered after a few minutes. 

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “No,” he said and squinted at Charles. He yawned and stretched himself, before leaning against the wall again. “Have you… have you done that before?”

“No.” Charles laughed. “Like I said, I just wanted to try it. Where would I have done that before?”

“I dunno.” Arthur shrugged, rubbing his left eye, suppressing another yawn. “You just seemed… to know what you were doing.” 

“I didn’t, really. But, uh, your reactions weren’t that difficult to read.”

Arthur felt his face heat. “Shut up,” he muttered weakly.

Charles chuckled and wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss against his temple. Arthur shifted a little in his arms to settle in a more comfortable position and then sighed contentedly. 

“How are you, Charles?”

“I’m fine,” Charles said, but it didn’t sound genuine. 

“Why were you angry earlier?” Arthur felt a pang of guilt when he realised that he rarely ever asked Charles how he was doing. Charles was doing so much for him, always taking care of him, always making him feel better while he was just being miserable and selfish.

“I was just… frustrated.”

“About…?” 

Charles was quiet for a while, his fingers trailing up and down Arthur’s arm and his forehead still leaning against the side of his head. “Dutch,” he said then. 

Arthur tensed up immediately, but hoped Charles didn’t notice. He knew almost everyone was angry at Dutch, but although he knew where they were coming from and could understand them to a degree, he still had the urge to defend him whenever somebody voiced their feelings. 

“We haven’t, um, really been on the best terms in a while. Granted, I’m not sure how much he ever really liked me, but…” Charles sighed. “I asked some questions that he didn’t like and he said some things that _I_ didn’t like and… it’s been difficult since.”

Arthur thought back to the fight between Charles and Dutch he’d witnessed. Well, half of it anyway. He’d never actually ended up asking for details, but he thought he could remember them yelling something about just that. 

“Dutch’s just… Dutch’s under a lot of pressure at the moment,” Arthur said, not able to stop himself this time. 

“I know,” Charles said placatingly. “It’s not just what’s happening between Dutch and me, though. It’s the way things are going in general. The direction they’re heading in. Makes me… rethink certain things.”

“Like what?” Arthur asked, even though his heart sank at Charles’ words. He snaked one arm out from in between their bodies so he could wrap it around Charles. 

Charles hesitated a few seconds before he answered. “When I… when I first joined you all…” he began slowly. “I thought it was a little… exaggerated, the way Dutch talked about how you’re all a family. But then… you really were. And I became a part of it. But lately…” He sighed. His fingers stopped for a moment before continuing moving up and down across Arthur’s arm. “It’s just not the same anymore. It feels… uncomfortable. Wrong.”

Arthur swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. He hugged Charles a little tighter. “Are you… are you leaving?” he asked, not sure if he even wanted an answer. 

“I’m not sure yet.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. Charles might as well have reached into his chest and torn his heart out. For a moment he felt his body tense, felt anger rise up inside of him, and he tried to hold on to it, but it dissipated quickly. He wasn’t angry. 

It just hurt.

“I don’t want to leave, Arthur,” Charles continued when Arthur remained silent. “I just… I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

“You can’t just leave just because things get a little rough!” He tried again to get back the anger, _wanted_ the anger, _wanted_ to lash out, but instead he just sounded desperate. 

“I know.” Charles squeezed him tighter for a moment, but then he went all but limp, letting out a tired sigh. 

“We just need to get away from here. Then things will be fine again.” Arthur was trying to convince himself as much as Charles. “Away from the city. From all this godforsaken civilisation.”

“High Society still hasn’t charmed you then?” Charles asked, changing the subject away from his considerations about leaving. 

Arthur grunted. “Don’t think it ever will. It’s too cramped. All I want is to be out west. Not a single person around for miles.”

“Not a single one?” Charles asked coyly. 

“Well. Maybe I’ll make _one_ exception.”

“Why, thank you. Don’t that make me feel special.”

“Who’s talking about you? I meant Marston.”

Charles laughed and shoved him. “You’d take his head off after a week.”

They didn’t go back to talk about Charles’ thoughts about leaving again, but it was weighing heavily on Arthur and Charles was more pensive and quiet than usual as well. 

Arthur got dressed again eventually, and they went outside, but when he returned from taking a piss, Charles was gone. 

“Have you seen Charles?” he asked John, who was just sitting down at the fire.

“Uh, yeah, actually. He told me he’d take my shift keeping guard.”

“Oh. Okay.” Arthur sighed and sat down at the fire as well.

“Did you fight?”

“No. He, uh, he’s not having a very good day, though. He probably just needs some time to think.”

“Or he just wanted to get away from you for a few hours.”

“Ha-ha,” Arthur said dryly, kicking him in the leg. 

John cackled and took a swig of his beer, leaning on his knees and staring into the flames. “What’s going on between you two anyway?” he asked then, glancing at Arthur from the corner of his eyes. 

Arthur shrugged. “What’s it matter?” he asked back defensively.

“It don’t. I was just curious.” John’s tone of voice was conciliatory, but he looked upset at the way Arthur had snapped at him.

“I don’t really know what’s going on between us,” Arthur said.

“But you like him?” John looked at him curiously, the upset gone from his face. He seemed to appreciate Arthur’s meagre attempt at opening up. 

“Yeah.” Arthur’s voice was quiet, and he looked sheepishly down at the ground. “A lot.” 

“Well, he clearly likes you a lot too. I’m really happy for you, Arthur.”

Arthur wiped his sweaty palms against his pants. While he appreciated the sentiment, he didn’t know how to react or what to say. 

Luckily John didn’t expect an answer, and he knew Arthur well enough to not dwell on the subject any longer. Instead, he stood up to get himself another beer and brought Arthur one as well and then asked about how things had gone with Eagle Flies.

Although he’d settled down a while ago, Arthur was still awake by the time Charles returned and laid down beside him. 

“You alright?” he whispered. 

“Yeah.” Charles was facing Arthur, but they could barely see each other in the dim light. “Sorry for disappearing. I just needed some time.”

“It’s okay. I thought so.” 

Charles leaned in and kissed him gently before he turned around and wiggled back until his back was snug against Arthur’s chest and Arthur wrapped his arm around him. While Charles fell asleep quickly, Arthur was up all night. He kept thinking about Charles leaving. Even though he’d said he hadn’t decided yet, Arthur didn’t feel very optimistic about the chances. 

He didn’t like how much that hurt him. Truth be told, the more aware he became of the depth of his feelings for Charles, the more they terrified him. After Mary, he had never wanted to feel like this about anybody again. Had never wanted to repeat the mistake of someone having this much power over him. 

But here he was, as big a fool as he always had been, hopelessly in love and about to get his heart broken all over again. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long one y'all you better strap in

“Arthur?” Charles motioned for him to come closer and when he did, Arthur could see building plans from the bank in Rhodes in his hands. “You up for a job today?”

He looked hesitant to ask – Arthur hadn’t slept a wink last night Charles knew it. Although he didn’t know the reason for it and Arthur sure as hell wasn’t about to tell him.

“Sure.”

It was more than welcome, actually. Anything to get his mind off of what he’d been thinking about all night.

“Oh, what you gotta ask him for, Charles?” Uncle complained and Arthur looked at him, frowning. _Uncle_ was in on this? “He’s just gonna make a big drama out of it, you know he will!”

“Drama? What, I don’t like robbing banks now?”

“You like complaining and whining.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but before he could reply, Charles handed him the plans he’d pulled up and said to Uncle, “Arthur’s good. He’s the best man we’ve got. And this is easy.”

Arthur barely heard Uncle’s reply, feeling his face burn from the compliments. God, he was pathetic, wasn’t he? He’d spent all night trying to convince himself to shut this down, stop himself from letting this progress any further and here he was blushing like a goddamn fool.

He pretended to be studying the plans for a moment and cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “So how are we doing this?” he asked Charles.

“Turns out there’s a big weakness in the building. They replaced a window to improve security but the bricks are real weak.” Charles pointed out the window in question.

“So?” Arthur asked.

“The vault’s right behind,” Uncle said impatiently.

“Feller sold me the plans told me all about it,” Charles continued. “It’s an open secret in town, due to be fixed any day, apparently.”

Arthur nodded, feeling excited at the prospect despite Uncle’s accusations that all he did was whine. It sounded like a great opportunity. A _fun_ opportunity. “Have we got enough explosives?”

“I think so.”

“Well then. What’re we waiting for?” He grabbed the fuse spool and the detonator. “Come on!”

“Just no whining there, Arthur Morgan.”

“Shut up or I’ll make you whine,” Arthur muttered, handing the detonator to him while he was walking past.

As they neared the town, they cut through a strip of woods. They could see the back of the bank from the edge of the woods and decided to rest there until it got dark.

“You should try to get some sleep, too,” Charles said, nodding towards Uncle who’d fallen asleep in a matter of seconds.

“I’m not tired.”

“Don’t make me regret taking you. You already didn’t sleep last night.”

“Don’t make _me_ regret telling you that,” Arthur grumbled, but he leaned back against the large rock behind him and pulled his hat down over his face.

Charles woke Uncle and Arthur up as soon as it had gotten dark and they moved closer to the bank and crouched behind some bushes to scope out the situation.

“That boy there,” Uncle said, pointing towards a man standing in the light by the back door. “He’s a guard for sure.”

“I’ll go deal with him,” Arthur said and nodded.

“Silently, please,” Charles whispered.

“Of course.”

The guard had just turned the other way and started to round the building, so he didn’t notice Arthur until it was too late. He was taken care of quickly – and silently – and Arthur returned to Charles and Uncle. “All clear.”

“Good work, Arthur. Follow me.” Charles approached the back of the wall and started to set up the explosives. “Grab that spool, Arthur. Unspool that wire about thirty feet away.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. This won’t take long.”

Arthur unspooled the wire until he reached the outhouse a little way off and connected the fuse to the detonator. When Charles finished up, he ran up to Arthur and took cover behind the outhouse.

“Okay, I think we’re all good. Ready when you are.”

Arthur pushed the stick, and the explosives went off. The shock wave made him lose balance, but Charles quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him upright. They sprinted up to the building and climbed inside through the hole the explosion had left.

“Make it quick,” Uncle hissed at them.

“Safe looks damaged,” Arthur said, running his fingers along the gaps. “I reckon we’ll be able to pry these open.”

He grabbed the handles and pulled, throwing his weight into it. The door broke off and Arthur quickly shoveled the money inside in his bag.

Despite the pressure of time, the risk of being caught by law – and the very real possibility of being killed if that happened – Arthur’s mind felt calmer and clearer than it had in a long time. There was nothing in the world that made him feel more alive than this.

The thundering of hoofbeats as they were escaping the policemen riding behind them reverberated inside of Arthur’s body, exciting him even more.

They galloped until they left the law enforcement far behind and then stopped for a moment, dividing the money between the three of them before they split up to take separate routes back to camp.

Uncle was there already when Arthur arrived, but Charles didn’t seem to be yet. Arthur dropped off the gang’s share in the lockbox and then went back outside to take care of his horse.

“There you are!” he called out when he saw Charles riding in on Taima. “Was starting to think you got lost.”

Charles laughed; he looked to be just as cheerful as Arthur felt, a welcome contrast to his dull mood from yesterday. He climbed off Taima’s back but before he could do anything else, Arthur had grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

The reality of what he’d done – in full view of the camp – didn’t sink in until Arthur saw Charles’ surprised expression.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“Don’t ever apologise for this.” Charles laughed and kissed him again. Arthur groaned and grabbed his hips, pushing him against the hitching rail. He completely lost himself in the sensation of their bodies pressed together, hands roaming across each other’s backs – when he suddenly heard a drawn-out whistle behind them it felt like he was being pulled from a different world.

“Hot stuff, fellers!” a familiar – but very unexpected – voice shouted.

“Sadie?!” he called out surprised. She climbed off her horse and held out a hand to Molly to help her off hers. Arthur greeted the two women excitedly – although that excitement faded a little when he saw how Molly kept warily eyeing the house.

“I’m gonna get Molly settled back in,” Sadie said, protectively placing an arm around her shoulder, “but after that it seems we have some catching up to do.”

Everyone was excited to see that the two of them had returned. Mary-Beth and Tilly stayed inside the house with Molly and although no one said it out loud, it was pretty clear they were making sure Dutch would keep his distance – if he ever actually came out of his room, that is.

Despite that dampener, though, spirits were high; Uncle was telling everyone who’d listen – and those who wouldn’t – a very dramatic version of their robbery.

Arthur was embarrassed about how Sadie had seen him and Charles, and he kept his distance for a little while and had a few beers before he could look her in the eyes again. He only caught the tail-end of Charles catching her up on things between them, and although he kind of wanted to know what _exactly_ Charles had said, he didn’t dare to ask.

“So where have you and Molly been?” Arthur asked her to change the subject before she could think of any further questions to ask.

“Saint Denis, at first. But then we stayed in Lagras with a woman we met. I would’ve preferred if Molly stayed with her, but she wanted to come back.” Sadie sighed. “She’s not ready to give up on Dutch yet.”

“Have you?” John asked her. “Given up on him, I mean.”

“It’s not the same,” Sadie said evasively. “She has a different relationship with him than any of us.”

“I know. But have you?”

The subject had drawn everyone’s attention, and they all had fallen silent, the mood somber all of a sudden. Arthur reached for the bottle of bourbon Javier had set down next to himself and took a few swigs.

Even across the fire he could read on John’s face that the subject was difficult for him too. – It was difficult for most, probably, but John was one of the few people who truly felt the same level of loyalty and devotion to Dutch and this gang as Arthur.

John had usually been more vocal about questioning Dutch, while Arthur had always felt the need to defend him in public. He had his doubts too, and he’d gotten into some fights over it with Dutch, but he’d always tried to keep those away from others because anything else just felt too much like a betrayal.

“I don’t think so,” Sadie sighed after contemplating it for a moment. “I can’t say I have much of the _faith_ left he keeps asking us for but… I haven’t given up on him yet, no.”

Arthur could see Charles look at him from the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t turn his head to meet his eyes. Sadie’s words – and the fact that several people looked like they were agreeing with her – was hard enough for him to deal with. If he looked at Charles now he’d start thinking about last night and then he’d start thinking about how Charles was considering leaving and then he’d start thinking about how that meant he would have to deal with all that was coming without him and how he didn’t think he could do that anymore and _goddammit_.

He stood up, his frustrations making his movements more abrupt than intended, and walked to the crate of beer bottles nearby. He picked one up, but instead of opening it, he just looked at it for a few seconds. It was tempting, having a couple more drinks and losing himself in the fog. Very tempting, which was exactly why he shouldn’t do it.

He put the bottle back down and walked away. Heading to the back of the house, Arthur grabbed a lamp off the porch railing and lit it. He put it down next to himself as he sat down on the steps of the back porch. The sounds of the rest of the gang were only faintly audible back here, and despite the bright moon and clear sky, the swamp beyond was hidden in an impenetrable darkness.

Generally, he’d been doing a lot better about being in the dark again – he hadn’t had any issues on his way back from Rhodes, not even after splitting up from Charles and Uncle. Being alone in the woods hadn’t bothered him, but when he thought back to the night he’d wandered off into the area beyond the house, he shuddered. Maybe it was just his personal prejudices, but Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about this area. Sure, he hated the swamps, and he hated Saint Denis, and he hated being so far east in general, but it was more than that. Something that set off some primal instincts that his mind couldn’t comprehend.

He wondered briefly if Dutch felt it too, if that was why he was acting so erratically, but while couldn’t be sure that it didn’t play a part in it, he knew it wasn’t the whole reason. That had been going on since before they’d come here.

“Tell me you’re not planning on wandering off into the swamps again.”

Arthur startled when he suddenly heard Charles’ voice.

“No, don’t worry,” he said. “Last thing I wanna do right now.”

“Good.” Charles moved the lamp and sat down next to Arthur. “I was a little worried when you suddenly disappeared.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Charles reached for Arthur’s hand, his thumb rubbing across the back of it before he lifted it to press a kiss on his knuckles. “Weird to think that night wasn’t all that long ago.”

“Feels like a lifetime.”

“Yeah.”

Charlesʼ other arm was resting on Arthur’s shoulder, his fingers playing with a strand of his hair at the back of his head. Goosebumps spread across Arthur’s skin and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of Charles caressing him. When he opened them again, he looked at Charles and thought back to that night.

“I still stand by it, y’know?”

“Stand by what?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“And _you’re_ drunk again.” Charles laughed but leaned in to kiss him. Arthur smiled against his lips before he deepened the kiss, placing his hand against the side of Charles’ face, feeling his stubbly cheek against his palm. After having been interrupted earlier, his hunger resurfaced quickly, and he buried his fingers in Charles’ hair, greedily pulling him closer. Charles met his kisses with the same enthusiasm, pushing him against the railing and climbing halfway on his lap.

Arthur’s head was swimming, and he felt his rapidly growing erection press against the fly of his jeans. Charles ground his hips against Arthur’s crotch, but then broke their kiss with a gasp. Arthur groaned, disappointed, and tried to pull him back in, but Charles took his hands and stopped him.

“We, uh, we probably shouldn’t do this right here.” He pressed a kiss against Arthur’s knuckles but didn’t move down from his lap yet, both of them still catching their breath.

They looked at each other, a little hesitant for a moment, unsure of how to make the next move.

Arthur swallowed emptily and leaned in to press a quick kiss on Charles’ lips. “Let’s… let’s go upstairs.”

They stumbled into the room in a tangle of limbs, already tearing each other’s clothes off. Arthur moaned at the sensation of their bare chests pressing together, burying his hands in Charles’ soft hair and reveling in the taste of him.

They pulled the mat off the cot – remembering how much it had creaked when they’d just sat on it the last time – and sank down on it, Charles straddling Arthur’s lap. The feeling of Charles’ strong thighs squeezing his hips and holding him in place drove Arthur insane. He pressed his hands against them, feeling the strong muscles moving against them as Charles leaned forward to kiss his lips.

“Arthur.” Charles’ breathy voice shot like a bolt of lightning through his body. He sucked Arthur’s bottom lip into his mouth for a moment before he slowly pulled back as if he didn’t want to stop kissing him even long enough to speak. He looked into Arthur’s eyes, his own so dark they seemed to suck Arthur in. He bit his bottom lip and Arthur felt his thoughts cloud, just barely able to stop himself from kissing him long enough to let him speak.

“Would you…” he hesitated for a moment and averted his eyes, the sheepishness on his face something Arthur had never seen before. “Would you let me fuck you?”

Arthur hadn’t really thought about any of this before, but hearing Charles ask him, hearing Charles use that sort of language, didn’t make this question very hard to answer.

“Yes,” Arthur groaned, pulling Charles in for another greedy kiss. Charles moaned against his lips and muttered something Arthur couldn’t quite make out, but that sounded suspiciously like another curse.

He kissed Arthur passionately, his hands roaming all over his body, touching him, teasing him, until they were both out of breath. Arthur’s heart was going a million miles an hour and he couldn’t catch a single straight thought anymore. He didn’t even know what exactly he was aching for; he was consumed by his need, his hunger. He wanted more – _all –_ of Charles.

Charles was kneeling between Arthur’s thighs, his fingers tracing along Arthur’s jaw, resting on Arthur’s lips for a moment before he pushed past them and Arthur opened his mouth, sucking on them and licking in between and all around them. Charles’ other hand was grabbing his thigh firmly. God, Arthur loved how big his hands were.

He pulled his fingers from Arthur’s mouth and brought his hand down. When his spit-soaked fingers traced Arthur’s entrance, Arthur clenched involuntarily, before he caught himself and made his body relax.

It was an odd feeling – and he wasn’t sure if it was good odd or bad odd at first, but with Charles’ hungry eyes burning into his, he felt his entire body tingle and soon he was rutting against his fingers, opening up, greedy to feel Charles’ hard cock inside of him.

Charles pulled his hand back, making Arthur shudder at the sudden emptiness, and spat in his palm, running his hand along the length of his cock a couple of times before he shifted, lining himself up with Arthur’s hole. Arthur groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, the head of Charles’ cock feeling impossibly big, but at the same time hurting in a very enticing way. He shifted slightly, spreading his knees wider, and Charles sank past the resistance inside of him, making both of them moan.

Charles stopped moving for a moment, the air only filled with their panting breaths. He leaned forward, bracing himself on one arm to Arthur’s side, wrapping his other hand around Arthur’s cock before he pushed further. Arthur cursed breathlessly, the feeling of it all so intense he might just explode. His fingernails were scraping across the wooden floor and he bit his lip, but just when he thought the pain might become too much, he felt Charles’ hips against his ass and his eyes snapped open, staring widely at Charles.

Neither of them moved for a few seconds, both enthralled by the sensations. Charles leaned down to kiss Arthur’s lips, his tongue pushing into his mouth as he started to move his hips. Arthur buried his fingers in Charles’ hair, holding him close while his other hand slid down across his back, feeling the muscles ripple under his palm.

The pain from the stretch faded slowly and Arthur moaned against Charles’ lips, arching his back against him. Charles deepened their kiss before he pushed himself up so he could grab Arthur’s thighs. Arthur cursed, feeling Charles’ thrusts even deeper inside of him.

With Charles’ hands now otherwise occupied, Arthur moved his own hand in between their bodies and wrapped his fingers around his straining erection. With the different angle, Charles hit a spot inside of him that made Arthur cry out in surprise, his body shuddering at the intense bolt of pleasure that ran through him. Charles’ eyes widened surprised, and he licked his lips, his thrusts now harder, trying to aim for the same spot again. He pushed Arthur’s thighs towards his chest, all but folding him in half. Once he found the spot again – made obvious by Arthur’s reaction, he sped up the movement of his hips, thrusting hard and deep, rubbing against it every time.

Arthur cursed roughly, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He was breathing harshly, trying his best to keep the noise down to a minimum even though it felt like it was killing him.

Charles’ hands were digging into his thighs, and he growled roughly as his hips picked up speed. Arthur’s hand was still wrapped around his cock, but he didn’t have to move it much more than it was already being jerked around by Charles’ thrusts. He felt the familiar pressure start to build in his balls and his head slammed against the floorboards with more force than he’d intended, but he barely felt the pain. His entire body was taut.

Charles’ chest was glistening with sweat as he took his hands off Arthur’s thighs and braced his arms on the floor next to his shoulders. His hair framing their heads like a dark curtain. He was muttering something, but Arthur couldn’t make out the words.

The pressure was building inside of him and every one of Charles’ thrusts made him see stars. Charles’ hips moved more erratically, and he was keening loudly, his breath brushing across Arthur’s skin. Arthur felt like he was about to snap, like a bowstring pulled too taut, but then he finally pushed over the edge, exploding in a blinding climax. Charles followed almost immediately, his hips moving erratically, and he choked out Arthur’s name as Arthur could feel him spilling inside of him.

Both of them were breathing heavily when they eventually came to a halt. Charles held himself in position for a moment, his eyes still screwed shut, before he moved to lie down next to Arthur. An embarrassing whine escaped Arthur’s mouth when Charles pulled out, the feeling almost too much for his oversentisised body. Arthur’s thighs were shaking – he already knew he was going to be sore from the unfamiliar stretch. Well. On second thought, probably not only his thighs.

Charles was holding him tightly, pressing soft kisses against Arthur’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Arthur’s throat was dry, and he felt a blush creep up his neck, but he turned his head to look at Charles, anyway. “You?”

“Me too.” Charles pushed himself up on one elbow so he could look at Arthur for a moment before he leaned down to kiss him. “Though I think we should do this by daylight next time. And somewhere away from people so you don’t have to be so quiet.”

“Oh, shut up.” Arthur squirmed, embarrassed. “You’re so weird.”

Charles laughed and kissed him again. “You’re allowed to tell me I’m beautiful, but I’m not allowed to tell you?”

“At least what I’m saying is true.”

Charles frowned disapprovingly, but to Arthur’s relief, didn’t argue. He kissed him again. “Your beard’s getting long again,” he murmured, his fingers scraping Arthur’s hairy cheek.

“This you asking me to shave?”

“No.” He smiled and pressed a kiss against Arthur’s jaw. “I like it.”

He leaned his face against Arthur’s and sighed. He sounded sad. Arthur placed his hand on Charles’ that was still resting against his face. He could guess what Charles was thinking about, and he felt the same. Moments like these, when it was just the two of them, they were so nice. There was nothing to worry about except what was happening right then and there, and that worry was a nice one. It was exhilarating, exciting. More of a thrill and a desire to explore it, really.

But those escapes never lasted long enough.

“Maybe once we’re away from here, we can go camping again,” Charles murmured against Arthur’s skin. “Just you and me.”

“Yeah, we should.” Arthur placed his hand on top of Charles’ that was resting on his chest and laced their fingers together.

He hadn’t thought a lot about their future together. Did they even have one? Any one of their lives was at risk – with their current Pinkerton issues more than ever – but even assuming that for some miraculous reason there would be a time again where they could just… live…

Was there a future for _them?_ Together?

* * *

Arthur saw Sadie look past him and stiffen with a frown before he heard a door slam shut. He turned around and saw Dutch storming towards them, a furious expression on his face.

“ _What_ the hell is this?!” he asked, waving a slip of paper in front of Charles’ face.

Arthur couldn’t tell what was written on the note, but Charles’ expression hardened, even though he barely glanced at it.

“It’s exactly what it says it is,” he said sharply.

Dutch’s face had already been deep red before, but now it darkened even more. “I have _had it_ with your insolent– your _disrespectful_ behaviour! For _months_ you question every decision I make, blame me for everything that goes wrong, and now you’re _stealing_? Who do you think you are?!”

Micah was standing a few feet behind Dutch, arms crossed, looking amused by the scene. The smug grin on his face made Arthur’s blood boil and his hands clenched to fists.

Charles laughed coldly, the hateful sound so unlike him, and set down the cup of coffee he was holding before he stood up. Arthur could see Sadie stiffen, ready to jump in and intervene if necessary.

“Who I think I am is somebody that risked his life over and over again for this gang. For your gang. Just like everyone else here. And you have the gall to sit up there in your room for days on end, ignoring us all, conspiring with that rat-faced bastard–” He pointed past Dutch’s shoulder towards Micah. “–and then try to talk to me about disrespect? People here are counting on you! They’re scared and they’re looking to you for guidance! They would walk through hell for you, and this is how you thank them? By shutting them out and not telling them what the hell is going on?” Charles got louder and louder with every word, towering over Dutch with a furious expression on his face.

Micah’s expression darkened for a moment at Charles’ insult, and his hand moved towards the knife on his hip. But when he saw that Arthur was watching him, his smug grin returned, and he pulled the knife, provocatively twisting it in his hands. Arthur gripped the handle of his own knife firmly and stood up, but didn’t draw it. Alongside him, Sadie stood up as well, and she made her way around the fire until she stood right next to Arthur.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dutch now yelled at the two of them, not acknowledging Charles’ words. “Is this how we handle things now? Drawing weapons on me for trying to take care of my family?”

Arthur blinked, taken aback by his words and the abrupt switch from raging to the overtly pitiful tone his voice had taken on at the end. He hadn’t been able to make sense of it when Sadie already answered.

“The only one who drew a weapon is your little minion back there,” she said coldly. “But I guess them rules you were just having a temper tantrum about don’t apply to _him_.”

“Temper tantrum? Is it a temper tantrum now to try and stop him from stealing from us? All I’ve ever done is _protect_ you.”

“For somebody who thinks being questioned is the same as being accused, you have some nerve claiming I’m stealing,” Charles snarled. He snatched the note out of Dutch’s hand before Dutch could react and then reached into the inside pocket of his vest and pulled out a bundle of bills, thrusting both of it into Arthur’s hands.

“Do with this as you will,” he said and stormed off. Arthur followed him with his eyes for a few seconds, before he turned his attention to the note and the money Charles had given him.

Dutch reached for the note, but Arthur moved it out of his way. When he’d read it, he handed it off to Sadie. He was glad that she was here with him, because he had no idea what to make of this situation. Dutch was talking again, but Arthur couldn’t take in any of the words. Something about his tone of voice made Arthur’s skin crawl, but he couldn’t quite pin-point what it was.

Sadie looked at him with a worried expression; his inner turmoil seemed to be written clearly on his face. She took half a step forward, effectively drawing Dutch’s attention back on her.

“All this says is that he wants to keep the money until we all know what you’re doing with it,” she said then, holding up the note. “It says exactly how much it is and where it’s from. Don’t exactly strike me as stealing.”

“There are _rules_ that–”

“ _Fuck_ your rules,” Sadie interrupted him. “You want the money? Just tell us what you need it for.” She crossed her arms, cocking an eyebrow.

“Arthur,” Dutch said, turning away from Sadie and towards him. “You wanna leave this place, right? _That’s_ what we need the money for.”

Arthur looked down at the bills in his hands. If Charles had intended to steal it, he wouldn’t have put the note in the lockbox. No, the note meant only one thing: he didn’t trust Dutch to put the money to good use.

Although it hurt Arthur to do so, he closed his fingers around the money and pulled his hand away when Dutch reached for it. “We’re not leaving today, are we? No harm in me holding onto this for a while then.”

Dutch’s expression fell and Arthur had to turn away because he couldn’t bear to see it. He hadn’t noticed that most of the gang had gathered around – although it was obvious, in retrospect. Part of him expected someone to tell him to give the money to Dutch as he walked past them, but all he was met with were somber faces.

He didn’t know where he was going; he was just blindly fleeing from the pain he was feeling. Had he lost his trust in Dutch too? Had he just betrayed him?

His fist clenched tighter around the money in his hand, and he wished he could just throw it into the swamps and make the whole mess disappear with it.

“Arthur?” Hosea called out to him. Arthur didn’t turn around to him, but he stopped and waited for Hosea to catch up with him. When he was standing next to him, Hosea placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Do not feel bad for what you just did,” he said quietly.

“How could I not?!” Arthur’s voice was raw, he was close to tears. “If we can’t– god, if we can’t even trust each other anymore, then what do we have left? What is it all for?”

Hosea looked off into the distance for a while, a pained expression on his face. “These are… these are difficult times. We just have to do whatever is necessary to get through them. I wish… I wish I had better answers for you.”

He looked worried. Tired. _Old_.

Although Arthur liked to tease him, Hosea never really struck him as old. Or at least he hadn’t until now.

“Hosea are you… Is there anything I can do for you?”

Hosea smiled in appreciation and squeezed his shoulder again, but he shook his head. “Don’t you worry about me. Go be with Charles.”

“I don’t even know where he went,” Arthur said evasively, not moving from the spot. “Maybe he went for a ride.”

“He didn’t. I saw him when I was walking over here.”

But Arthur still didn’t budge. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him.”

“I can’t tell you that, Arthur.” Hosea shook his head and shrugged. “Actually though, before you go…” He looked hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to say what came next. “I think Dutch is planning to go for the trolley station the day after tomorrow. He was… ranting… about it after you walked away.”

Arthur cursed loudly, fighting the urge to tear out his own hair in frustration. “Is this because of– because of what just happened? He hasn’t talked about that damn trolley station in a while.”

“Maybe not to us.”

Arthur closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He should’ve known, of course, that Dutch wouldn’t drop this so easily. But with everything that was happening, it had been nice to pretend so.

“Who’s coming?” he asked Hosea.

“I don’t know. I just thought you should know.”

“Alright. Well. Thank you, then.”

Hosea sighed and nodded, before he turned to leave. “I have to go now. I’m meeting somebody in Saint Denis.”

Arthur frowned, but before he could ask, Hosea had already started walking swiftly towards the horses.

He stood there for a while longer, staring off into the distance, but eventually he did what Hosea had told him to.

He spotted Charles sitting near the river and as he approached, saw that Jack was kneeling next to him, attentively watching him whittle. Arthur stopped for a few moments and watched them. Charles was talking to Jack, but speaking too quietly for Arthur to understand. He applied a few more cuts to the little figurine he was holding and then handed it to Jack, who slung his arms around him before he jumped up and started running back towards camp. He almost ran past Arthur without seeing him, but at the last moment he came to a slithering halt.

“Look!” He held up a wooden alligator. It was barely bigger than Jack’s palm, but the detail was very intricate. “Uncle Charles made it for me! Isn’t it pretty?”

He didn’t even give Arthur time to answer before he was running along, calling out for his mother to show her the gift.

Charles was still sitting on the ground; he held another block of wood in his hands, but he was twisting it idly, the knife set down on the ground next to him. He didn’t look up as Arthur approached, although Arthur was sure he heard him.

“Uncle Charles?” Arthur asked while he sat down next to him. “That’s new, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Charles laughed, looking both touched and a little embarrassed. “He’s only been calling me that for a few days.”

“Has Abigail written all over it, don’t you think?”

Charles eyed him for a few seconds but looked away when Arthur turned his head towards him. “Does it bother you?” he asked then.

“Why me? If it was bothering anyone, wouldn’t that be you?”

“I can only think of one reason he’d start calling me that _now_. And I’d say you’re as affected by that as I am. I just… I wasn’t sure how you were feeling about this becoming… more public, I guess. Like with Sadie seeing us yesterday, you know?” He didn’t look at Arthur at all while he was talking, which was odd, since he usually wasn’t the one who avoided eye contact.

“Well.” Arthur shrugged. “It wasn’t, uh, much of a secret anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But there’s a difference between people knowing something and… seeing it.”

Charles still didn’t meet his eyes, and Arthur nervously picked at the grass in front of him. “Did you… I mean… was I not supposed to… to kiss you out here? Did you not want anyone to see?”

“What? No.” Finally, Charles looked at him and reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’m fine with it. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be.”

“I think I am.” Arthur sighed and dropped the blades of grass he’d torn out back onto the ground. “But I also don’t think that’s our biggest worry at the moment.”

He could see Charles’ shoulders stiffen at his words.

“I didn’t give the money to Dutch,” he continued when Charles remained silent. He was watching Charles closely, trying to gauge his reaction, but it was difficult when he couldn’t see his eyes.

“Why not?” Charles asked him.

“I don’t _know_ , Charles, okay?” Arthur groaned and buried his face in his hands, annoyed at his own reaction. It wasn’t Charles he was angry at. Or maybe it was. He couldn’t make sense of anything right now, least of all himself.

“I’m really sorry, Arthur. I didn’t–” He cut himself off with a sigh. “I understand if you’re angry at me. But I… I didn’t do this because I wanted to start a fight. I know you love Dutch, Arthur, but I–”

“Stop.” Arthur pressed his hands firmer against his face for a moment before he lifted his head. “I don’t want to talk about Dutch right now.”

Arthur couldn’t tell if he’d upset Charles or not, but the silence between them was uncomfortable. Still, neither of them left. Charles eventually picked up the block of wood and started carving, while Arthur watched him.

The tension between them had almost left, but as a pair of footsteps neared them and Charles looked up, the temperature seemed to have suddenly dropped several degrees. Arthur turned his head and saw that it was Hosea. For a moment he was confused about him being back already, but then he looked up at the sky and saw the position of the sun and realised they must’ve been sitting here for a long time.

“Charles. Can we talk?” Hosea asked. He kept his eyes carefully trained on Charles, not as much as glancing at Arthur.

Arthur looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment, but something about the expression on Charles’ face made him not ask. He had a bad feeling about this. As they were walking away, Charles turned his head around to look at Arthur and the look on his face made Arthur think back to the night Charles had told him he was thinking about leaving. His heart sank, and he felt sick to his stomach.

Please god, let that not be it.

After Charles left, Arthur stood up and walked towards camp as well, suddenly feeling on edge – almost scared, in fact.

“You alright, Arthur?”

He jumped slightly when he heard Mary-Beth’s voice. He hadn’t noticed her standing there.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

She frowned, concerned at his reaction, but Arthur turned to look straight ahead and continue walking before she could ask further. Bill, Javier and John were sitting around the fire and as Arthur approached them, he could hear from Bill’s tone of voice that they weren’t talking niceties. He considered turning left and going inside instead, but didn’t do it. He couldn’t run from this forever.

“Look, if he don’t like the way we do things here, why don’t he just leave? I’m sick and tired of him causing trouble all the goddamn time. And he gets away with it, why? ‘Cause Arthur’s screwing him now?” Bill scoffed, glaring into the round.

“Jealous because no one’s screwing you? Maybe if you took a bath every once in a while–”

“Javier.” John shook his head, but he was fighting a laugh. “Let’s not start another fight, yeah? Sit down, Bill.” He placed his hand firmly on Bill’s shoulder and pushed him back in his seat. “Everyone’s upset about the way things are right now.”

“And how is pissing Dutch off making it any better? Or stealing from all of us?”

“He wasn’t stealing.”

“Why, look at that. He can speak. Don’t you have to run to your girlfriend first to ask what you’re supposed to say?”

Arthur gritted his teeth but at the warning look John shot him, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down.

“The money isn’t gone,” he said then. “I have it. And it will go into the lockbox as soon as we know what we need it for.”

“Don’t be expectin’ any money from _me_ in there until that happens.”

“Yeah, like there ever was,” Javier muttered, and this time Bill shot up on his feet and grabbed him by the collar before John could react.

“What’s your problem, huh?” Bill snarled at Javier. “Arthur just fucking all sorts of darkies now?”

Javier’s eyes narrowed and with a surprising speed, he drew his gun and rammed the butt of it against Bill’s nose. Blood spurted from it and Bill stumbled a few steps backwards, holding his nose.

“You better watch your words, gringo. You do _not_ want to piss me off, believe me.”

“I’m going to _kill_ you, you fucking greaser piece of shit.”

John muttered something under his breath, but stood in between Bill and Javier and pushed Bill back before he could lunge at Javier. “Just go,” he told him. “We don’t need this right now.”

Bill muttered something under his breath and then shot first Javier and then Arthur a dark look, but stormed off.

“Thanks for your help there, Arthur,” John said sarcastically as he sat back down. Arthur opened his mouth to defend himself but after stammering uselessly for a moment he closed it again, realising he didn’t actually know what to say.

He turned to his left and sat down by the fire next to Lenny, gladly taking the beer he was offered.

“Don’t take it too hard,” Lenny said quietly, making sure John didn’t overhear him. “I heard Abigail yelling at him earlier for not standing up for you. I think he just wants to feel better about that.”

Arthur sighed. “He’s not wrong though. I should’ve said something to Bill.”

Lenny scoffed. “Don’t think there’s much more talking to this man than there is to Micah. Punch in the face would probably be more helpful.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Arthur chuckled.

“I don’t know if you were just sticking up for Charles earlier, but… I don’t think it was wrong to keep the money out of the lockbox.” He looked at Arthur from the corner of his eyes as if he wasn’t sure his words wouldn't make him angry. “Normally… I wouldn’t advocate for that. But… It’s not like things are exactly _normal_ at the moment, you know?”

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed. “I don’t know how to feel about it. I understand why he did it but…” He shook his head and shrugged helplessly. “I just hate that it got this bad.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Mary-Beth joined them at the fire soon after, sitting down next to Javier. She eyed Arthur closely, but didn’t say anything. Javier was idly strumming his guitar, tuning it before he played a melody that Arthur had heard him play a few times before but didn’t know what song it was.

As he was listening to Javier play, Arthur’s eyes wandered towards the house, wondering if Charles and Hosea had gone inside to talk. He quickly turned his head the other way again, trying to steer his thoughts in a different direction. He didn’t want to think about what they were discussing right now. Instead, he watched the way Javier’s fingers moved effortlessly across the guitar strings as he played. He’d tried to teach Arthur some time ago, but Arthur had given up on it quickly. He just couldn’t contort his fingers that way – let alone remember where they were supposed to go _and_ do it quickly enough to play an actual song – and he’d decided it would be better to call it quits before he trashed Javier’s guitar out of frustration.

Lenny made a dissatisfied noise and his face turned sour again. Following his line of sight, Arthur could see why. Micah was walking towards them, a smug expression on his face. He sat on one of the crates around the fire, not seeming at all bothered by the dissatisfied expressions on everyone’s faces.

“Where’s Dutch?” Arthur eventually broke the tense silence.

“Finishing up some plans.” Micah’s eyes gleamed evilly in the fire. “Says he’s not to be disturbed.”

Next to him, Arthur could feel Lenny’s body tense as he muttered something under his breath.

“You got something to say?” Micah challenged him.

“Not to you. Might be wantin’ to have a talk with Dutch, though.”

“Yeah? Go on, then. You fellers keep pissing him off, I might finally convince him it’s just no good having a bunch of darkies running with us.”

“Why don’t you just fuck off, Micah?” Arthur clenched his fists, fighting the urge to punch Micah in the face.

“Or what? Are you gonna throw another temper tantrum, cowpoke? Guess there’s no question about who’s the girl between you and the redskin.” Micah scoffed. “Don’t know what you two are still doing here, anyway. Even a group full of degenerates like this one shouldn’t have to put up with _this_ , if you ask me.”

“But we didn’t ask you though, did we?” Javier said sharply.

Micah glared at him as he stood up, provocatively spitting his tobacco only inches from Javier’s boots. “You better watch your back,” he said gravelly.

Javier looked unimpressed, staring back into Micah’s eyes unblinkingly until Micah turned and walked away.

“You better make good on your promise to kill him soon,” Javier said to Arthur. “Before I do it.”

“We should make a group activity out of it.” Lenny laughed when Arthur choked on his beer at his words.

Javier seemed to like that idea too, but Arthur didn’t hear what he said next because his attention was drawn away when the front door of the house opened and Hosea and Charles walked outside. Hosea stopped a few steps from the front door, watching Charles continue walking for a moment, before he turned his head and met Arthur’s eyes. His expression was apologetic, almost guilty. Arthur’s hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into his palms.

Charles walked straight to his tent, but then stood there looking a little lost, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths. Arthur stood up, wanted to go to him, but when he saw Charles start to pack up his things, he felt panic rise in his chest.

Javier and Lenny had fallen silent, both of them were looking at Charles, their faces tight. Charles’ movements were stiff, his face hidden behind the dark curtain of his hair.

“Arthur…” Lenny said quietly, “are you–?”

Before he could finish his question, Arthur turned, and all but ran away. He walked around the other side of the house, tearing at the collar of his shirt, feeling the top button tear off and fly aside. It was useless, of course. The feeling of suffocation had nothing to do with his clothing. He screwed his eyes shut, hating himself for feeling tears burn behind his lids.

God, he was a fucking idiot. He should’ve known it would turn out like this. He _had_ known it would turn out like this.

He walked around the corner to the back of the house, sinking down on the steps of the back porch. With an exhausted sigh, he buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes.

When he heard a set of footsteps coming closer, he raised his head, the pain in his chest flaring up again when he looked at Charles.

“Don’t say it.” Arthur gritted his teeth and swallowed emptily. He clenched his hands to fists and then stretched his fingers out, before he put his hands in his lap because he hated how much they were shaking. “I know what you’re about to say. But don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

Charles sighed deeply and sat down next to Arthur.

Neither of them talked, the air between them heavy with everything that was left unspoken. Charles was the first to move. He turned towards Arthur and reached out for his hand. Even though Arthur had the urge to pull away because the touch only made it hurt so much more, he didn’t.

“God, Charles. What am I– What am I supposed to do without you?”

“It’s going to be okay, Arthur. It’s– it’s gonna be easier.”

“Easier?” Arthur bit his tongue when his voice cracked. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. He remembered how a few years ago he’d been kicked in the chest by a wild horse and broke multiple ribs. Somehow, breathing right now hurt worse than it had back then.

“Look… Bill was right.” Charles laughed at the incredulous look Arthur shot him. “About one thing, at least. Right now, having me around only makes it harder to talk to Dutch. He shuts down as soon as he sees me. Maybe… with me gone you will be able to work out what the best thing to do is.”

“But you don’t have to– I mean… isn’t there a way you two can work this out without you having to leave?”

“It’s not just Dutch.” Charles sighed, rubbing the back of Arthur’s hand with his thumb. “I think it’s safe to say that, uh, most people here aren’t exactly fond of me these days.”

“That’s bullcrap.” Arthur scoffed and pulled his hand back. “So what, Micah and Bill are pissed at you? Who _aren’t_ they pissed at?”

He stood up and shook his head, brushing his hair out of his face with annoyance. It was longer than he’d let it get in years, and the only reason he hadn’t cut it yet was because of how much he liked it when Charles ran his hands through it or curled it around his fingers. Right now, though, he cursed himself for that and he was close to just tearing it all out with his hands right here on the spot.

“So where are you going?” he asked Charles, pacing about like a caged animal.

“I’m going to help out at the reservation.”

“Oh?” Arthur stopped in his tracks and looked at Charles, but continued his pacing only seconds later.

“Hosea has been keeping in touch with Evelyn Miller. You… you met him at the mayor’s party, right? He’s… he’s been… helping them for… I’m sorry, can you stop with the pacing? You’re driving me crazy.”

“ _I’m_ driving _you_ crazy?! You’re the one just up and leaving!” Arthur groaned at himself, regretting his outburst already.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I really am.” Charles stood up and stepped in front of him, stopping him from moving. He tried to look Arthur in the eyes, but Arthur turned his head away. If he looked at Charles now, he’d stop being angry and once he wasn’t angry anymore…

“Look, after you got the papers from Leviticus Cornwall… it helped somewhat at least. Evelyn found some people to notify about it, so he’s at least restricted legally. But… that just means that now…”

“He’s trying to get at them illegally.”

“Yeah.” Charles placed his hand on Arthur’s cheek and made him turn his head and meet his eyes. “They could really use some help. They’ve lost so many people already.” Charles tugged him closer and kissed him gently. “And… if I go, I can finally do some good again. All I’m doing here is ruin everything. – Arthur…” Charles touched his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Okay?” Arthur laughed bitterly, turning away from Charles. He tried to fight back the words, knowing he’d regret them as soon as they were out, but they burst out of him, anyway. “How could I be okay?! I don’t– I don’t want you to leave. You can’t leave me. Maybe I’m just the most selfish person in the world, but I don’t want you to go, okay? I don’t want you to go help others, I don’t want you to leave even though you’re clearly miserable here because I want you to be with me! Is that what you want to hear? I don’t want you to leave!”

Arthur expected Charles to look at him disgusted, or to turn around and leave right now. Instead, though, his reaction was one that Arthur would’ve least expected. His eyes softened, and he smiled at Arthur before pulling him in and kissing him deeply. Arthur’s surprise about his reaction was wiped from his mind as soon as their lips touched, as was everything else. He wrapped his arms around Charles’ shoulders and held him close, losing himself in the feel and taste of him.

“I did… I did not expect this reaction,” he murmured against Charles’ lips when they broke apart, both of them out of breath. Charles kissed him again, his hand resting on Arthur’s face, fingers gently scraping through his beard.

“I will come back, Arthur. But they need help. And I need distance. – Not from you, just from the way things are here at camp.”

Arthur felt his heart sink again, but none of the anger or the pain from before returned. “So this… this is it, then? Just like that?”

“Does it have to be?”

“You tell me. You’re the one leaving.”

“That don’t mean it has to be over! I’ll come back.”

Arthur laughed bitterly. “How do you know that? What if Cornwall kills you? What if the Pinkertons show up right after you’re gone and kill me?”

“That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know what!”

“No, I don’t. But I do know that if I leave now, there’s at least a _chance_ that we can fix this. But if I stay… it will get worse. And then I really might have to leave for good.”

Arthur leaned his face into Charles’ hand for a moment, but then he sighed deeply and sat down on the stairs again. He was exhausted.

Charles looked at him, his face tense, and pushed his hair back from his face, his movements rough and abrupt. Arthur felt bad for lashing out at him; this clearly was hard for him, too.

“It’s not that– I mean…” Charles paused and sighed, sitting down next to Arthur. “It’s just like when one of us goes on a job that’s further away. Or hunting for a few days.”

“Yeah.” Arthur nodded, even though they both knew that wasn’t true. But he appreciated Charles trying to make him feel better.

“You could come.”

“Charles…” Arthur shut his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe against the feeling of his heart splitting in two. He’d expected Charles to say something like this. It was tempting. Getting away from all this mess… _with Charles._ And helping out at the reservation sounded a hell of a lot more fulfilling than whatever the hell was going on here. But…

“I can’t.” It hurt to say, but Charles smiled sadly and nodded; he’d clearly been expecting this answer. “I have to stay and try to fix things. I– I _want_ to come with you, Charles, but I–”

“I know.” Charles nodded. “I understand.” He leaned closer, their shoulders touching. “But I had to say it.” He frowned, pursing his lips for a moment, as if he didn’t know whether he should say the next part. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“God, Charles.” Arthur turned his head, leaning it against Charles’ shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you, too.” He lifted his head, his lips brushing across Charles’ jaw in search of his, kissing him deeply when they did. “Don’t leave today,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I don’t– I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to stay any longer.”

“Please, Charles. It’s– it’s late already. And it’s far. Just one more night. _Please_.”

“Alright.” Charles kissed him again, intertwining his fingers with Arthur’s. “But I have to leave tomorrow morning.”

Arthur nodded, lifting their hands and pressing a kiss against Charles’ knuckles. He didn’t know what to say or do; didn’t know how to deal with this.

Charles didn’t speak either, he was still holding Arthur’s hand, caressing his face, the back of his neck, his hair, with his other one, leaning his face in close and trailing his lips across Arthur’s jaw until they found his mouth.

Arthur felt tears well up behind his lids and shut them tighter. He could feel Charles’ desperation – both of their desperation – in the kiss as they clung onto each other like drowning men.

He thought back to their camping trip, the night they’d kissed for the first time. They hadn’t been able to stop then either; what had been thrill and excitement then – finally giving in to what they’d been fighting against for so long, finally able to touch, taste, _feel_ each other – was nothing but fear and desperation now. How long until they’d see each other again?

 _Would_ they see each other again?

Although Arthur heard the sound, it didn’t fully register with him until Charles broke their kiss and looked past Arthur’s shoulder – presumably at whoever had walked up.

“Sorry for the interruption, fellers.”

Arthur could tell from the sound of Sadie’s voice the smirk she surely had on her face right now, even without turning around to look at her.

“We heard you’re planning on leaving, Charles,” Sadie continued.

Charles’ eyes lingered on Arthur’s face for a moment before he looked at Sadie and nodded.

“We were hoping you’d at least have time to grab a drink with us. I’m sure you two would like some privacy after–” Arthur grimaced at her suggestive tone of voice, feeling himself blush. “But I’m sure you can spare an hour or two.”

“Of course.” Charles smiled at her and then looked at Arthur when he didn’t stand up with him. “You coming?”

“Just go ahead without me. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Charles looked a little worried, but nodded and followed Sadie. Arthur exhaled slowly and ran his hand through his hair. He looked out over the field towards the swamp, everything had an orange glow as the sun was setting. He could hear the gang’s exclamations as Charles joined them, but while it did make him smile, his heart ached. He really didn’t know what he was supposed to do without Charles. He was mad at himself for letting himself get this attached again– or at least he tried to be, but… being with Charles, having him touch him, smile at him… it was wonderful. It was… almost worth all the pain. He knew tomorrow was going to be incredibly difficult; torn between wanting to prepare himself for the pain and not wanting to deal with it yet, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He wanted to have a nice evening, wanted _Charles_ to have a nice evening, but there was also this part of him that was angry. And that wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell and scream and throw things and break things – just completely lose it and unleash all the anger and hatred that was eating him up.

He looked up suddenly when he noticed how dark it had already gotten and stood up from the stairs. As he turned the corner and the campfire came into view, he stopped for a moment to take it in. He felt a little silly, like a sentimental old man, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the gang look so comfortable together. – At least not such a large part of it. And with Charles leaving tomorrow and everything that was yet to come... he didn’t know when the next time would be.

He leaned down to pick a bottle of beer from the crate as he walked up and joined the group. Lenny moved aside to make room for Arthur so he could sit next to Charles. Although the atmosphere was joyful and relaxed, Arthur couldn’t get his own spirits to rise, so he stayed quiet and just listened and watched the others talk. Nobody brought up Charles leaving, nor any of the other harder things to talk about. It was clearly hanging in the air between them, but instead they were reminiscing or telling anecdotes about happier things.

He was looking at Charles, studying his strong profile. He watched Charles the muscles in Charles’ neck work as he took a sip from his water flask, the way he cocked an eyebrow and his lips twitched amused as he listened to Javier telling a story about some time from before he’d joined their gang. After a few minutes, Charles turned his head and met Arthur’s eyes, probably feeling him staring at him.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, to not interrupt Javier or disturb the other ones who were listening to him.

Arthur nodded, his eyes still studying every inch of Charles’ face. Charles pursed his lips for a moment, considering something, but then he moved a little closer and took Arthur’s hand, raising it to his lips. Arthur smiled at him, the gesture still making his heart flutter, and stretched his index finger to trace it along the white scar on Charles’ cheek.

Even though Sadie hadn’t been wrong with what she’d said earlier – about how she was sure they would like some privacy after – part of Arthur was glad to push that back a little while. It was hard enough sitting here around the others with the knowledge that Charles would leave tomorrow, but he knew it would be worse once they were alone.

So when the seats around the fire started to empty as people went to sleep, Arthur had mixed feelings. He was fidgeting with the empty bottle of beer in his hands, while Charles talked with Javier. It sounded like he was about to leave too.

Arthur’s heart sped up as he watched Javier walk away, and he was left alone with Charles. Charles turned his head to look at Arthur, but he wasn't ready to meet his eyes yet.

“Arthur?” Charles took his hand and uncurled his fingers – Arthur hadn’t even realised he had been digging his fingernails into his palm again. “Are you alright?”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, not knowing if he wanted to yell at him or just start crying like a little child.

“How long will you be gone for?” he asked eventually, avoiding Charles’ question.

“I don’t know yet.” Charles was still holding Arthur’s hand, drawing aimless patterns on his palm. “I don’t know how bad the situation is for them. Hosea talked to Evelyn Miller a couple of times, but I haven’t actually seen him or Rains Fall again since that first time we met them.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes trailing from their hands up along Charles’ arms and his chest to his face. He was looking into the fire, his eyebrows furrowed, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Arthur squeezed his hand lightly and Charles turned his head to look at him. His hair was tied at the back of his head, but a few strands had come loose and were framing his face, glowing orange in the light of the fire. He looked sad, his jaw moving as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. But then he straightened his shoulders and inhaled deeply, before he smiled at Arthur. The sadness wasn’t quite gone from his eyes yet, but he seemed to be doing his best to chase it away for now. He kissed Arthur’s knuckles and stood up, pulling Arthur on his feet with him.

Arthur tried his best to shove his sadness aside too, but his own smile felt off and he knew he didn’t do as good a job at it as Charles.

“It’s okay if you’re not in the mood to… you know, do anything,” Charles said when they were upstairs and closed the door to Arthur’s room behind them. “I just wanted to be alone with you for a little while.”

Arthur nodded, even though they hadn’t turned on any lamps yet, and the light of the moon didn’t illuminate the room enough for Charles to see him. Arthur let go of Charles’ hand and walked towards the desk where he knew a lamp was sitting. He lit it, staring into the flame. Charles slid his arms around him from behind, burying his face against his back. Arthur closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Charles’ strong arms wrapped around him, the feeling of his chest against his back.

They stood there for a while just like that, both lost in their own thoughts, until Charles lifted his head and pressed a kiss against the back of Arthur’s neck.

Arthur turned around in his embrace and kissed Charles back, hugging him tightly. He buried his face in the crook of Charles’ neck, breathing in his scent.

He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Hosea about the trolley station. He really didn’t want to do it, it didn’t feel right at all, but he didn’t know how to bring up the subject to Dutch without making him angry.

Charles noticed his body tensing and hugged him tighter, one hand cupping the back of his head, fingers playing with his hair. Arthur sank into the touch, feeling himself relax again. He was going to miss this – being touched. He remembered how he’d all but freaked out when Charles had touched him at first. Of course it hadn’t been because he hadn’t wanted Charles to touch him, it had just been so long since someone had been genuinely affectionate with him. Probably not since Mary had left. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d missed it.

He turned his head a little, pressing a kiss against Charles’ jaw. He was tired, but he didn’t want to go to sleep; he wasn’t ready for tomorrow yet. Although he wasn’t sure he’d ever be.

Charles tilted his head, leaning into Arthur’s kiss. His eyes were closed, the drawn-out shadows from the lamplight making his eyelashes look even longer and darker than usual.

Arthur cupped his cheek and turned his head slightly so he could kiss him on the lips. He tugged Charles towards the sleeping mat that was still lying on the floor. Because, really, Arthur hadn’t been in here except for when he was with Charles. And for the two of them, the cot just wasn’t stable – or wide enough. Even so, they were more lying on the floor than the mat, but at least there wasn’t a risk of one of them rolling off – or the cot crashing beneath both of them.

Arthur pushed Charles onto his back, his hair fanning out behind him. Charles reached up and undid the buttons of Arthur’s shirt, pushing it down from his shoulders, and Arthur flung it aside while Charles already got started on the buttons of his union suit. They rid each other of their clothes quickly, only interrupting themselves with greedy kisses.

Arthur kissed Charles’ neck, feeling his pulse hammering against his lips. It shouldn’t be all that surprising, he supposed, but the fact that Charles’ heart was beating just as fast as his own made him smile.

Charles’ fingers were buried in his hair, nails scratching his scalp when he pulled tighter as Arthur bit down on the junction of shoulder and neck. Arthur kissed the same spot soothingly, before he leaned back. He was straddling Charles’ thighs, hands resting on his chest. They looked at each other for a long moment, until Arthur could no longer take it and he leaned down again, pressing his lips against Charles’.

He took Charles’ hand that was resting on his thigh, and lifted it, breaking the kiss so he could wrap his lips around Charles’ fingers instead. Charles watched him from hooded eyes, the hunger in them making Arthur shiver. His mouth released Charles’ fingers with an obscene sound and Charles pushed himself up into a sitting position while he reached around Arthur, pressing his fingers against his hole without losing any time. Even though he felt embarrassed with how closely Charles was watching him, Arthur wasn’t able to suppress a moan when Charles pushed a finger into him.

Wrapping his arms around Charles’ shoulders, burying one hand in his hair, Arthur rutted against the movements of Charles’ hand. He kissed him greedily, pushing his tongue into his mouth, savouring his taste.

When he couldn’t wait any longer, he reached back to grab Charles’ wrist and stop his movements, a shudder running through his body when Charles pulled his fingers out of him. Arthur wrapped his fingers around Charles’ erection, lined it up with his hole and slowly sank down on it, drawing a moan from both of them.

The pain of the stretch was more familiar already, Arthur ran his thumb across the head of his cock, the mixture between pleasure and pain together with Charles kissing him deeply making his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“God, Arthur,” Charles moaned against his lips. “You feel so good.”

Arthur’s fingers dug into Charles’ shoulder as he started moving, a curse escaping his mouth. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, Arthur’s erection trapped between their stomachs, the friction making him leak already. One of his hands was buried firmly in Charles’ hair, pulling his head back to kiss him greedily. Charles rocked his hips against Arthur’s movements, both of them panting into each other’s mouths.

Arthur moaned Charles’ name, his thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his movements controlled as he came closer to his climax. Charles’ head fell back with a drawn-out moan, the expression on his face pure ecstasy. Arthur rode him faster, losing the last shreds of self-control, and wrapped his hand around his erection, pumping hard and fast to push himself over the edge.

Arthur didn’t sleep well that night. He was up for a long time, watching Charles’ chest rise and fall with his breaths in the dim light of the fire.

When he did finally fall asleep, horrible nightmares of receiving the news of Charles’ death or dying himself before they ever saw each other again plagued him all night.

Charles was up early, but even so, Arthur had been awake for a while at that point. Cupping the side of Arthur’s face, fingers brushing through his beard, Charles tugged him closer for a kiss.

“Didn’t sleep well?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Arthur shrugged. “It’s fine.”

His words didn’t convince Charles, he could see that, but before Charles could say anything, Arthur stood up, saying he’d get coffee for them. They were the first ones up, so Arthur had to brew it first, which he didn’t mind too much because it gave him a few minutes to try to collect himself. When he returned, two cups in his hands, Charles had finished packing up his remaining things and was staring at the empty spot where his tent had stood.

Arthur’s heart sank and he bit down hard on the inside of his lip, letting out a slow exhale. Charles turned around to him and took the coffee Arthur offered him, the smile on his lips not reaching his eyes.

* * *

They drank the coffee in silence, but Charles reached out with his free hand to take Arthur’s, squeezing it once. Arthur squeezed back. and Charles raised their intertwined hands to press a kiss against Arthur’s knuckles. Arthur waited at Taima’s side while Charles said goodbye to everyone else. He couldn’t bear to watch. Instead, he stroked the mare’s soft nose and fed her a sugar cube.

“You’ll take care of him, won’t you, girl?”

The horse snorted, pushing her head against Arthur’s pocket, smelling more sugar in there, but Arthur chuckled softly, nudging her head away.

“Tell you what, you’ll get that when you bring Charles back to me in one piece. How’s that sound?”

“Bribing horses now, are we?” Charles asked, walking up behind Arthur.

Arthur rolled his eyes fondly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get a sugar cube too when you come back.”

“I’ll be looking forward to that.” Charles smiled at him, but his eyes were sad. He reached out to grab Arthur’s hand, the muscles in his throat working when he swallowed emptily.

Arthur sighed, tightening his fingers around Charles’ hand. “I know you have good reasons to go. I just…”

“I know.” Charles lifted Arthur’s hand and pressed a kiss against his knuckles before he took a step back and lifted the last of his bags onto Taima’s back and secured it. “I’m gonna miss your miserable face.”

Arthur chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly. “And I’m gonna miss your constant nagging.”

“Good.” Charles grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. “Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me? If you get yourself hurt, I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

“I know, I know.” Arthur coiled a strand of Charles’ hair around his finger. “Listen, at the first sign of trouble – if, if you need more men… just send someone to let me know, yeah? We’ll come help.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to let Eagle Flies know.” He sighed and as he looked at someone past Arthur’s shoulder, his expression darkened. There were only two people here that would cause that, and right now, Arthur didn’t want to look at either of them, so he didn’t turn around. Instead, he placed his hand on Charles’ cheek and turned his face away from whoever was standing behind him and kissed him.

Charles held him firmly, and Arthur allowed himself to sink into the embrace in a way that he didn’t usually like to do in the view of others. But he was really going to miss this, so he allowed himself the vulnerability.

“You should come by if you get some time to spare, alright?” Charles said as he climbed onto Taima’s back.

“I will.” Arthur nodded firmly. “Take care, Charles.”

“You too.”

As Arthur stood there and watched Charles and Taima disappear into the woods, he felt more lost and alone than he had in a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

“Hey, Uncle Arthur!” Arthur barely had enough time to put his coffee mug aside before Jack was already climbing on his lap. He was holding the little wooden alligator Charles had made for him and waved it in front of Arthur’s face. “Will you come look for gators with me?”

“Gators?” Arthur raised his eyebrows, feeling a little ambushed by all of Jack’s energy, but also glad about the distraction from his glum thoughts. 

“Yes. I wanna see one. A _big_ one. Momma says they are back there.” He pointed past the house. “That’s why I’m not allowed to go there alone.”

“And did you ask her if you can go there with me?” Arthur asked him and looked up at Abigail, who was standing a little offside, but was clearly listening to them. She smiled and nodded, while Jack did the same. 

“She says I can go if I promise not to let go of your hand and not to run off.”

“Well, alright then.” Arthur stood up; instead of getting off his lap, Jack climbed onto his back, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck and nearly choking him. Arthur laughed and adjusted his arms a little.

“Be a good boy and listen to your uncle,” Abigail told Jack, pressing a kiss on his cheek when Arthur stopped next to her for a moment. 

Arthur carried Jack past the shacks behind the house, but then the boy got too restless and Arthur put him down so he could walk himself – dutifully holding Arthur’s hand like his mother had told him to. 

“Why did Uncle Charles go away?”

Arthur’s heart sank at the question, and he swallowed empty. The image of Charles riding away yesterday had burned itself into his mind. “He’s… he’s gone to help out some people for a little while.”

“Momma said he was right to go away.” Jack frowned, looking upset. “She don’t know I heard it. But she said it to Pa.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say. “They really needed help,” he eventually said, a little evasively. “It was very nice of him to go.”

“But is he gonna come back?”

“Of course.” Arthur smiled at Jack. Even though he didn’t believe his own words, they seemed to lighten Jack’s mood. 

The ground beneath their feet was getting muddier and Arthur pulled Jack a little closer as he eyed the edge of the water. When he spotted an alligator, he pulled out his binoculars and crouched down, handing them to Jack.

“Over there is one in the water,” he said and pointed ahead. “Do you see it?”

Jack squinted, trying to spot it without the binoculars first before he lifted them up to his face and looked through them. “I see it!” he exclaimed. “Can we go closer?”

“Alright, but keep staying close to me, okay?” He took Jack’s hand again, and they kept walking, spotting even more of the animals once they got closer. Jack watched them with wide eyes, leaning in as close as he could without letting go of Arthur’s hand. 

“Can we go across?” he asked, pointing at the footbridge.

“Maybe another time, yeah? Let’s not go too far right now. Here.” Arthur lifted the binoculars up against Jack’s eyes. “Look over there, there’s one out of the water.”

“Oh! He’s so big!” Jack’s smile wavered for a second and he turned his head to Arthur. “What do we do if they come to the house at night?”

“Oh, I don’t think they will. They don’t like humans very much.”

“What if they get hungry? Do they eat humans?” 

“If they get hungry enough, I reckon they will. But you don’t have to worry about that. There’s plenty of other stuff around for them to eat, stuff that they like a lot more than people. They’ll get angry if you get too close and they’ll defend themselves, but as long as you keep your distance they won’t bother you.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully, looking at the alligators through the binoculars again. Arthur had let go of his hand because the binoculars were a little big for him and he needed both hands to hold them right, but he held onto his suspenders instead – he knew how quick the boy was to run off when he saw something interesting and he really didn’t wanna risk that here. 

It wasn’t just the alligators though. With a frown, Arthur pulled Jack a little closer when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His body tensed, feeling the shift in the atmosphere a split second before a blood-curdling scream coming all the way from camp reached his ears. 

Jack jumped, dropping the binoculars on the ground. He looked at Arthur, eyes widened in fear, and wasting no time, Arthur swiped him up, hugging him against his chest as he took off running. Gunshots were going off before he’d even made it halfway back to the house. 

Jack’s fingernails scratched Arthur’s neck as he clung onto him tighter. In the distance, Arthur could see Abigail come running around the corner of the house, screaming Jack’s name.

“I’ve got him!” Arthur shouted back. “Get inside!” 

Hosea was holding open the back door, ushering people inside, but Abigail stopped in front of the porch, waiting until Arthur and Jack reached the house before she came inside with them. Arthur handed Jack to her, taking the rifle Hosea was offering him in the same movement.

“What’s going on?”

“O’Driscolls.” Hosea’s face was grim. “They killed Kieran.”

“Fucking hell.” Arthur pushed past Hosea and Abigail to get to Dutch, who was barking orders to barricade the doors and assigning everyone positions to defend the house. In the heat of the fight, all conflict was forgotten and everyone listened, taking their place and shooting O’Driscolls wherever they popped up. 

Arthur had taken cover by the windows near the back door when he heard Sadie screaming outside. 

“That’s Sadie,” he called out at Lenny who was guarding the door. “I gotta go help her. Cover me!”

He sprinted across the lawn towards the shed in the back where he found her. She stabbed the man who was trying to strangle her in the eye and Arthur shot down a second one that was running closer to attack her from the back. 

“Sadie! Why didn’t you get inside?”

“And miss all this? Come on, Arthur!”

  


* * *

  


“We okay?” Hosea asked.

“I think so. Except for Kieran here.” Dutch shook his head. “Poor kid. Mr. Swanson, could you take this boy and bury him? Someplace near but not too near.”

Arthur looked at Kieran’s body on the ground as he felt the excitement and energy from the fight fade away and reality set in. His thigh felt as if it was on fire and when he looked down at it, he saw a large bloodstain – still growing bigger. He just looked at it, feeling the pain sear through him but not moving.

“Arthur!”

He heard Hosea’s footsteps coming closer, felt him placing a hand on his shoulder, but he was still looking down at his leg.

“Hey, come on. You need to sit down.” Hosea tightened his grip on Arthur’s shoulder and finally Arthur looked at him.

“It’s nothing. We, uh, we should start cleaning up around here.” He blinked and looked around the camp, knowing it was full of dead O’Driscolls, but he could barely see anything – everything seemed far away and even his own voice sounded distant in his ears.

Hosea moved, so he was standing right in front of him; his lips were moving but Arthur couldn’t hear anything. He blinked, it seemed, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground near the campfire, his jeans slit open to the thigh and Karen kneeling next to him, digging a bullet from his thigh.

“Arthur?”

Hearing his name, Arthur blinked rapidly a few times and slowly came back to reality. He cursed when he felt the pain from his leg and Karen picked up a bottle of bourbon from the ground next to her and offered it to him. 

“Did I pass out?” Arthur asked, after he’d taken a few sips, trying to distract himself from the pain.

“No.” Karen shook her head. “You just– I don’t know. Got a little woozy probably. You lost quite a bit of blood.”

Arthur grunted noncommittally in response and took a few more sips of bourbon. Karen silently finished sewing up his leg and then moved on to Sadie, who’d been hit in the shoulder. 

“Colm O’Damn Driscoll,” he muttered, closing his eyes when he felt dizzy again. What a goddamn mess.

  


* * *

  


_He saved my life, and I could not save his. Mrs. Adler fought braver than any of us. She is driven by powerful forces I scarcely understand. That’s what love has done to her, I guess._

  


* * *

  


By late afternoon, almost everyone was gathered around the fire. Apart from Arthur and Sadie, no one else had been hurt – save for a few scrapes and bruises.

They were all upset, though. Mourning Kieran, wondering how everything had become so screwed up, missing how things had been before.

Everyone looked up when the front door opened and somebody stepped out of the house, but it was just Micah.

“Why so glum everybody?” he sneered as he stepped closer. “Someone die?”

He was the only one who laughed at his distasteful joke, while everyone else averted their eyes.

Arthur gritted his teeth. He knew he was too damn drunk to fight Micah but, god, the man did make it tempting. 

“Leave, Micah,” Abigail spat. “No one wants you here.”

“Would you rather go somewhere more private with me?” he asked her suggestively. Arthur thought he might throw up.

Abigail jumped to her feet, lunging at him and she probably would’ve taken out one of his eyes, but John held her back. Shame. Arthur would’ve liked to see that. 

Micah opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Hosea stood up abruptly, drawing everyone’s attention on himself.

“You,” he said and pointed at Micah, “need to go and stop making everyone more miserable than we already are. You might not have any respect for the dead, but the rest of us do.” He glared at Micah until he finally turned around and walked away, muttering something under his breath.

“Where’s Dutch?” Lenny asked when Micah was out of earshot. “What are we gonna do now?” The helpless way he looked at Hosea made Arthur suddenly remember just how young Lenny was. It was easy to forget sometimes – and Lenny tried his hardest to make it that way, too – but he wasn’t even twenty years old yet.

“I… I’ll talk to him. Tomorrow.”

Arthur didn’t think he’d ever seen Hosea look so reluctant about that prospect. It wasn’t that they’d never fought – hell, some of the fights Hosea and Dutch had had over the years made Dutch and Molly pale in comparison – but their fights had always been on the offensive. Yelling and shouting and throwing insults at each other’s heads. But this avoidance? It was so much worse.

Hosea didn’t look anyone in the eyes as he walked past them and disappeared in the darkness behind the fire’s glow. He looked ashamed, as if this somehow was his fault.

Arthur didn’t sleep that night. He hadn’t slept the night before, either. Even in the sweltry Lemoyne nights, he shivered without Charles’ arms wrapped around him. He tossed and turned, but he couldn’t come to rest. 

With Charles gone, he had moved upstairs into his room again. He hated looking at the empty spot where Charles’ tent had been, but he also hated being inside where there were so many memories as well. 

He was walking the grounds around the house, absentmindedly rubbing his chest, trying to get rid of the dull ache that had been constantly present ever since he’d watched Charles ride away. He looked up at the light coming from behind Dutch’s windows on the upper floor every time he walked past. It was late. Everyone else had gone to sleep already. In fact, not even Micah was upstairs with him anymore. Arthur had watched him leave a while ago.

And every time he looked up, he told himself he’d go upstairs and talk to Dutch, but every time he just kept walking. He was tired, he didn’t want to start a fight, he didn’t want to wake anyone up with an argument in the middle of the night… yeah, excuses he could think of plenty. None of which made him feel any less of a coward and a failure. 

“You look rough,” Karen commented the next morning.

“So do you. Up before noon?”

She rolled her eyes at him and flipped him off, but didn’t look genuinely mad. Arthur noticed how much her hands were trembling as she reached for the half empty bottle of whiskey that sat on the table. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. It seemed that every time someone tried it, she buried herself deeper in the next bottle. Maybe… hopefully… they would be able to get away from here soon and she would get better. 

Arthur was torn from his thoughts when he saw Dutch stepping outside. He lit a cigar as he turned around to look at the bullet holes along the front of the house and the broken windows. 

“Colm O’Driscoll,” he muttered hatefully under his breath. 

“That man can really hate,” Arthur said as he stepped closer, touching a bullet hole next to the window frame. 

“So can I, Arthur… so can I.” Dutch stared off into the distance for a moment, his face tight, before he turned to look at Arthur. “Now, the trolley bus station. I went down there, took a look at it.”

“When?” Arthur asked, regretting his sour tone of voice when he saw Dutch’s face. 

“A few days ago,” Dutch said pointedly. “I think we can hit it.”

“I ain’t never robbed in a city before.” He sounded like a petulant child, but although Dutch raised an eyebrow, he didn’t call him out on it. 

“Well, you leave the planning to me. You’ll ride with me?”

“Always,” Arthur answered automatically. He felt a pang of guilt at his answer, and he briefly wondered if he didn’t really mean it anymore. But before he could lose himself in the question, he forced his attention back to the task at hand. “Is it just you and me?”

“No, we’ll need one more I reckon.”

“I say Lenny.” Arthur nodded towards the young man, who was sitting at the fire, talking to Javier. He thought back to how miserable he’d looked the other day. While Arthur still couldn’t fully shed his doubts about this job, he hoped with all his heart that he was wrong about it. And if he was, this could help Lenny let go of at least some of the doubts that burdened him. 

“Not Micah?”

Arthur scowled, his resolve to remain positive and hopeful already wavering. “That depends if you want a massacre or a payday.”

Dutch shook his head lightly. “Now, I wish there was something I could do to make the two of you get along better.”

“That’s easy. Make him change.”

Dutch’s face turned dark for a moment, but then he caught himself. “I will tell Lenny to get ready. Meet us at the trolley station.”

Arthur didn’t know why Dutch wouldn’t want the three of them to ride together, but Dutch had walked away before he could reply. With a sigh, he poured himself another cup of coffee as he watched the two of them ride away. 

“There you are,” Dutch greeted him impatiently. “Come on, keep walking. You’re late.”

“A couple of days in this place, you’ve turned into some clock watching city boy. What’s the urgency?” 

If he was in such a hurry, Dutch could’ve just let Arthur ride with them. – Speaking of which… Arthur noticed how upset Lenny looked and his heart sank. What had Dutch been talking about on the way here?

“We need to leave… forever. We’ve been doing well, making money, but for us all to leave together, we need enough for a boat. Now, I found a friendly ship captain; he’s willing to take us to Australia, or Tahiti. We just need to pay for passage and give him money for land when we get there. No questions asked. We will disappear. Be reborn.”

“Where the hell is Tahiti?!” Arthur asked. Was this what had upset Lenny? It pissed Arthur off for sure. 

“South Pacific. An untouched paradise.”

“Who lives there?”

“Tahitians, I guess.” Dutch shrugged nonchalantly and Arthur suddenly had to fight the urge to punch him in the face. 

“We made a bit of money on that riverboat job,” Arthur said as he and Lenny hurried after Dutch, “but where’s the rest coming from?” 

“In there.” Dutch pulled out his bandana and tied it over his face. Arthur and Lenny followed suit, although they both exchanged a wary glance as they did it. “Bronte says this place has got money. Come on.” He kicked open the door and then continued louder, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery… behave as I tell you and none of you will die. Annoy me, and you will.”

  


* * *

  


“And we each got _fifteen dollars_ ,” Arthur growled, pushing the money in Dutch’s hand. “Oh, and a quarter. Don’t forget about the _quarter_.”

“Shut up, Arthur.” Dutch groaned, holding his head. “He set us up. Played me like a yokel. Put the law on us. What did we do to him? What did _I_ do to him?”

Arthur was mad at Dutch – fuming, actually. The entire thing had been a setup. No damn money, but a ton of law that had _clearly_ been tipped off. But luckily for Dutch, he looked very pitiful right now, after having hit his head badly during their escape, and so Arthur managed to stay civil. “I guess he thinks he’s the king around here. He don’t want the likes of you. So, what’re we doing next, Dutch?”

“We just need money. One more decent take and we’re gone. The bank is our bet. Hosea agrees.”

“Even after that?”

“Especially after that.” Dutch nodded, but then put his hand to his head, his eyes looking a little unfocused. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Ah, you just got a bash on the head.”

“Come on,” Lenny said, grabbing Dutch by the arm. “I’m taking you back to camp.”

“Hey, you did real good there, Lenny,” Arthur said. “Just wish it could have turned out better.”

“Well, we can’t win ‘em all.” Lenny grinned at him, but the look in his eyes wasn’t quite as unruffled as his tone of voice tried to make it seem. 

Arthur watched the wagon disappear in the distance and finally allowed himself to let his anger out. With a frustrated yell, he punched into the tree next to him, over and over again until both his fists were bruised and bloodied. 

With the worst of his anger gone, Arthur slumped against the tree in exhaustion, tears running down his face. He was so tired. He didn’t want to move ever again. He wanted to stay right here forever, let the tree grow around him and himself into the tree until there was nothing human left of him. 

But he wasn’t that lucky now, was he?

By the time he made his way back to camp, the sun had long passed its zenith. He barely made it off his horse before Jack came running at him seemingly out of nowhere and flung himself in his arms, his whole body being shaken by sobs. 

“Jack? What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, protectively placing a hand on the back of his head. 

He didn’t answer, but when Arthur walked towards the camp, he could guess what had upset the boy. Everyone looked tense and angry – even more so than usual. 

“Oh, Arthur! Where did you find him?” Abigail came running closer. Jack didn’t let go of Arthur, but she placed her hand on his back, content just knowing the boy was safe. 

“He was hidin’ out by the horses, I think. Came running at me when I got back. What happened?”

She shook her head, sighing wearily. “I take it the trolley station didn’t go well?” Arthur’s scowl was all the answer she needed. “Dutch didn’t look so good when he got back. Lenny said he got hurt, so when he went upstairs I thought he’d go lie down. But then Micah went after him and I don’t know what he told him, but Dutch was suddenly real angry. And he came back downstairs looking for Hosea and started getting into fights with– well, with anyone that dared to be standing or sitting on the wrong spot. When he did find Hosea, he got the worst of it though. They’re still inside.”

Arthur looked down at Jack and fought the urge to curse. He heard more than enough foul language around camp, but Abigail didn’t like him talking like that, so Arthur thought it best not to feed the flames right now. 

“You’ll talk to them, won’t you?” Abigail’s blue eyes were pained and tears welled up in them. Arthur hugged Jack tighter against his chest for a moment before he handed him over to his mother. 

“I’ll talk to them. I just– I just need a minute,” his voice broke and Abigail opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Arthur turned and walked away. 

His chest was constricting painfully, and he tore at the buttons of his shirt, as if that was what made it impossible for him to breathe. He leaned his forearm against a tree, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. Tears burned behind his eyelids, but he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, refusing to let them escape. 

He blindly fumbled around his satchel with his free hand until he could wrap his hand around the little deer Charles had made for him. God, he missed him. He missed him so much. How was he supposed to handle this? What the hell was he supposed to do?

“Arthur?” John stepped towards him, his boots rustling the grass beneath his feet. 

“I just need a minute,” Arthur choked out. His throat felt like sandpaper. 

John placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder but Arthur pushed it away, standing up straight and bringing a few steps’ distance between them. 

“Don’t. I can’t. I just– I just need a minute.”

“I know you miss him, Arthur. But let me help you.”

Arthur groaned, fighting the urge to double over. “Shut up, John.”

John didn’t back up. He put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “What happened at the trolley station today?” he asked then. 

Arthur exhaled shakily. “Fifteen dollars.” He didn’t know if he was laughing or crying. “We got fifteen dollars each for that job.”

“Shit.”

They both fell silent while Arthur tried to gain back his composure. 

“I, uh, I have to go talk to Dutch now,” he said then, even though he felt less than thrilled about the prospect. 

“I’ll come.”

But Arthur shook his head. “Go look for Abigail and Jack. Boy’s pretty upset about all the fightin’.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” John patted his shoulder as he walked past him to go to his family.

Arthur reached for the figurine in his satchel again to brace himself before he went inside and climbed the stairs. 

  


* * *

  


“So, Arthur.” Dutch leaned his hips against the railing of the balcony and looked at him as Arthur stepped outside to join him and Hosea. “You get the deciding vote.”

Dutch’s voice was calm, but both his and Hosea’s faces were still red with anger and the tense way Hosea was holding himself didn’t do much to hide it either. 

“About what?” 

“We take an insult and scurry off like cockroaches–” Hosea rolled his eyes at Dutch’s words– “Or deal with business the _right_ way.”

“We don’t need to take revenge.” Hosea looked at Arthur imploringly. “We hardly know the guy.”

“This ain’t about revenge, Hosea. Angelo Bronte don’t mean shit to me. This is about the fact that we are planning to rob a bank in this town. A bank that he no doubt protects, a town where his men are gunning for us. Before we do that, we need to put him out of commission.”

“We cannot rob this bank, Dutch. There has to be another way.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Hosea’s words. Dutch had sounded very sure earlier that Hosea would still want to go after the bank. 

“There _ain’t_ no other way. I know his type. He is a vindictive little power broker who rules by fear. Now, we pull that stunt in his cesspit of a town… we’re doomed. You wanna leave this place? Leave this country? We need that money.”

“It just don’t feel good, Dutch.”

“This is it. This is the last job that we are ever gonna pull. Before the year is out, we are gonna be harvesting mangoes in Tahiti. Farmers. But we need seed capital and we need to leave. You know it. I know it.”

“Forgive me if I can’t think too much about the mango harvest.”

“Trust me. – Arthur?”

Hosea looked at him hopefully, reaching out towards him. Arthur shrugged helplessly. “Business is business,” he said, but it didn’t sound very convincing. The drop of Hosea’s shoulders felt like a stab through his heart. 

“Angelo Bronte stands between us and our future,” Dutch continued. 

Hosea pressed his lips into a tight line, his eyes turning cold. “You’ll damn us all.”

Before anyone could reply, he turned around on his heels and walked out. 

“He’s not… entirely wrong either, you know?” Arthur said then. As expected, Dutch’s expression darkened at his words. “Are you sure that revenge is the way to go here? Maybe it’s not the best time to be taking risks.”

“I know you’re upset with me about this morning, Arthur, but don’t you see that this is where you’re wrong? It was Bronte’s fault. He tricked us! And that’s why we–”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head with indignation. “Oh, of course it’s all _Bronte’s_ fault. Nevermind that Hosea and I have _told you_ we don’t feel good about this! But nothing’s ever your fault, is it?”

“What were we supposed to do? Just miss this opportunity?”

“Looks to me like we’d be better off if we had.”

“This is Charles’ doing, isn’t it? He has been putting ideas in your head.”

“You leave Charles out of this!” Before Arthur even knew he was moving, he had grabbed Dutch by the front of his shirt. “This has _nothing_ to do with him,” he said tightly, loosening his grip on Dutch’s shirt and taking a step back. 

“Of course it does! Are you trying to tell me it’s just a coincidence? First, _he_ starts accusing me of all sorts of things and then suddenly you do too? You have always been like a son to me, Arthur. And now… now look at us! He’s poisoned you against me!”

“Maybe,” Arthur said slowly, “maybe instead of trying to place the blame on somebody else _yet again_ , you should take a long, hard look at yourself and _think_ about the way you’ve been behaving lately.” His voice was icy, the sort of voice he usually reserved for threatening people on a job. 

For a few seconds, something in Dutchʼs expression wavered, and Arthur thought he might have finally reached him. But then he just shook his head and put the butt of his cigar into the ashtray on the railing. 

“Come on,” he said then, walking inside without waiting for a response.

“You better be right about this one,” Arthur said grimly, but followed him down the stairs.

“I am.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“And usually, I have been right.” 

“If you say so.”

“Quit doubting, Arthur. It does no favours.” Dutch pushed open the front doors and walked outside. “Come on. We need to go see a man about a boat.”

“A boat?”

“We’re headed to a settlement called Lagras. I met a boatman there called Thomas who knows these waters like the back of his hand.”

“Why do we need a boat?” Arthur asked, not satisfied with the answer, as they climbed onto their horses.

“So we can attack Bronte’s mansion from the swamp, catch him off guard. He knows we survived the trolley station, so he’ll be expecting some kind of reprisal.”

“Right. Okay, makes sense.”

“See? I do still possess some capacity for rational thought, Arthur.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but bit his tongue. 

“Thank you,” Dutch said about a half hour into their ride northward.

“For what?”

“For taking my side back there.”

“It ain’t about sides.” 

“Feels like Hosea’s lost his spine.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. He still felt bad for hurting Hosea. And the way Dutch was acting right now didn’t make it easier on him. “But this move on Bronte… is it for the bank job… or revenge for what happened at the trolley station?” he asked Dutch.

“Both. Neither. What does it matter? We need to hit that bank. And Bronte has the police and just about everything else in Saint Denis in his back pocket. He also set us up. And lest we forget, took young Jack.”

“I understand,” Arthur said placatingly, trying not to mirror Dutch’s aggravated tone of voice. “We just got lots of pots on the boil, given all the folks who’s out gunning for us.”

“You all seem to have forgotten how money is made and what it takes to support twenty people – let alone what it takes to give twenty people a new life overseas.”

“With all due respect, Dutch, is this Tahiti plan really going to work out?”

“You tell me, Arthur. Is it? Have some _goddamn faith_.” Dutch’s voice sounded like he was practically foaming at the mouth. “I am bending over backwards to make a future for us.”

“I know… but–”

“ _But, but, but_ ,” Dutch repeated mockingly, “when did you become so small-minded? If you’d rather we break up the family, follow Charles’ footsteps and go our separate ways, just tell me.”

“Of course not! And Charles didn’t––”

“This isn’t a prison camp,” Dutch interrupted him. “I am not forcing anybody to stay. So either we’re in this _together_ , working _together_ to get out _together_ , or we’re not. There simply isn’t a reality in which we do nothing and get everything.”

“I know. You’re right,” Arthur said, but his voice was tight. His patience was running thin. And so was his resolve to keep this civil. “It just feels like we’re on borrowed time again. I mean, the O’Driscolls found us.”

“Yeah. We need to move. And soon. Haven’t I made that clear? I feel like I’m going in circles with all of you. Micah is the only one left with any loyalty.”

“Now that ain’t fair!” Arthur’s fingers tightened around the reigns, the dried blood on his knuckles cracking and one spot started to bleed again. 

“You are talking like John. I swear that woman is poisoning him against me. I’ve seen it before.”

“Poisoning him?” Arthur shouted before he could stop himself. “Now, why does that sound so damn familiar?”

Dutch was riding in front of Arthur and staring straight ahead, but Arthur could see his shoulders stiffen. “You think Micah would question going after Bronte?” he said coldly. “No! He’d say _let’s go!_ ”

Arthur gritted his teeth, swallowing down his anger and all the insults he wanted to throw at Dutch’s head. 

  


* * *

  


It said a lot about how Arthur’s day was going that almost getting eaten by an alligator didn’t even come close to being the worst part of it. 

The set up in Saint Denis? Also no longer the worst part. 

No, the worst part came when Arthur and Dutch arrived back at camp. 

Hosea was gone. He’d packed his things and left – heading north to the Wapiti reservation. 

Arthur got the news from Tilly; she looked miserable enough as it was, so he tried not to let it show how upset he was and tried to make her feel better instead. It didn’t feel like he achieved much, though. 

When he went upstairs to change out of his muddy and swamp-water-damp clothes, he closed the door behind himself and leaned against it, having to take a few minutes to try to collect himself. 

By the time he made it downstairs and outside again it was late already and most people had gone to sleep already. John was still sitting by the fire though, and Arthur grabbed a beer and joined him. 

“ _‘You’re talking like John’_ ,” Arthur said while he sat down on a crate.

“Makes sense. Considering I _am_ him,” John replied, giving him a puzzled look.

“That’s what Dutch said to me tonight.”

“Ah.” John nodded, taking a sip from his beer.

“He also thinks Abigail and Charles are poisoning us against him.”

“Figures. Couldn’t be him who’s in the wrong.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” Arthur sighed wearily, scratching his eyebrow. “I can’t believe Hosea’s gone.”

“He said he’ll be back.”

“Yeah.” Arthur laughed bitterly, taking the last sip of his beer. “If there’s anything left to come back to.”

“Don’t– don’t think like that.” John’s face was tight too, his scars looking red and angry in the light of the fire. It made Arthur think of Charles. He wondered how Charles had gotten the scar on his cheek. He’d never asked. There was a lot he didn’t know about Charles, he realised. He wished he’d asked more. 

With a tired sigh, John stood up. “Think I’ll be joining my poisonous woman upstairs,” he said with a grin, looking towards the upper floor of the house. “And you should be getting some sleep, too. By the sounds of it, we’re having some busy days ahead.”

“Yeah. G’night, John.”

“Night, Arthur.” He patted Arthur’s shoulder as he walked past and disappeared into the darkness. 

Arthur’s thoughts were still with Charles. Was he asleep already? Or was he, too, sitting at the fire thinking about him? Did he miss Arthur too?

“You’re a sentimental old fool,” Arthur muttered to himself. 

  


* * *

  


“Great work from your boyfriend,” Bill grunted the next morning, as they were sitting around the fire. He spat out the last word as if it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur really wasn’t in the mood for this. He’d barely gotten any sleep at all – once again – and the realisation that Hosea was gone too seemed to only just hit him now.

“Well, first _he_ leaves, n’ now Hosea’s hightailing it too. And not only that, he asked a bunch of us if we were gonna leave with him. Coward.”

“You have some goddamn respect,” John snapped at him. 

“You might wanna take your hand off me before you try and talk to me about respect. Or before you lose it.”

“Way things have been going lately, can’t say I blame them for leaving,” Javier shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

“Of course _you’d_ say that,” Bill muttered under his breath. Javier shot him a dirty glare but didn’t deem the statement worthy of an answer.

“You thinking about going too?” John asked. His tone of voice wasn’t accusatory, but an uncomfortable tension settled over them, anyway. 

“I’m not leaving. – At Least not yet,” he added begrudgingly.

John nodded. “‘M thinking I might send Abigail and Jack.” He turned to look at Arthur. “D’you know when Dutch wants us to go after Bronte?”

“Probably today or tomorrow. Don’t think he’ll let this rest for long.”

“Yeah.” John nodded. “Don’t think so either.”

“You think Abigail would go? If you asked her to?”

“I don’t know, honestly. She seemed to understand why Hosea left, but I don’t think she’s very keen on the fact that the gang’s getting all split up. Maybe for Jack’s sake, though.”

“You could go with them.”

John laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. They could probably use men. From what Charles told me, things aren’t looking too good up there.”

“So why didn’t you go?”

Arthur pressed his lips together. From the pointed way John asked, he could tell that he knew the answer. And he knew John’s answer would be the same. 

Before they could continue their conversation though, Dutch came outside, Micah in tow. Dutch wanted to go after Bronte tonight; he asked Bill, John, Lenny and Arthur to come. Arthur was surprised he didn’t ask Micah, but the look on his face told him that Micah had expected that – and the fact that he didn’t look upset about it made Arthur wonder what Micah was doing instead. 

They met up at Thomas’ place – the man Dutch and Arthur had visited the day before – shortly before dark and got into his boat. As Thomas rowed them down the river, Arthur shuddered, remembering the alligator from last night. He kept an eye out for it, half-heartedly listening to Dutch teasing Bill about his days in the navy.

“Yeah, well, I fought, and I fought well,” Bill grunted.

“So you always tell us.”

“Taught me something you could do with learning.” Bill turned around in his seat to glare at Dutch. “Them Indians were savages.”

“Watch your mouth there, boy,” Dutch said darkly. “Watch it. Only type of savage in these parts are moonshine swilling, pompous, inbred locals.”

“Dutch, I saw things out there.”

“I don’t doubt you saw things, Bill.” Dutch leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “But your tiny little mind was too small to comprehend what you saw. What you saw was people who lost everything to savagery. The savagery of peasants, failures come from Europe to reap some awful vengeance on God’s last creation.”

“And yet you said Hosea had lost his spine for choosing to go and help them,” Arthur muttered. The glare Dutch shot him made Arthur worry for a moment that he was going to throw him overboard – and he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t have if Thomas hadn’t spoken in this moment.

“Interesting way you boys got of preparing for a killing.”

“I’m sorry I wasted my life trying to teach you boys,” Dutch said, turning around again, “love you though, I do.” 

His tone of voice made Arthur grit his teeth and think that maybe he should throw Dutch overboard. “Well, leaving love aside. You think we got this?”

“Don’t you ever leave love aside, Arthur. It’s all we got.”

Arthur didn’t reply; he stared out across the dark water, trying to shove aside the image of Charles’ face. He couldn’t think about him now. He needed to stay on task.

Thomas brought them to shore outside of Bronte’s mansion and they sneaked up to the low wall surrounding it. 

“Lenny, Bill, you’re with me,” Dutch whispered. “Arthur, John, you take the left side. If you see a shot, you take it. Okay? Good luck, gentlemen.”

Bronte had more men than Arthur had expected – maybe more than any of them had expected. Still, they cleared the outside and made it inside, searching the house for him.

“John! In here,” Arthur called out.

Bronte was cowering in the bathtub and when Arthur spoke, he stood up and aimed a gun at him. He pulled the trigger and – nothing. It clicked empty. He said something in Italian – judging by the tone of voice it must’ve been a curse and threw the gun, hitting John with it. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry friend,” Bronte said as he stepped out of the bathtub. “I–”

Arthur lifted his gun, aiming it at his head.

“No, name your price! Name your price, every man have a price!”

John followed Arthur’s motions.

“Okay, okay, no! I surrender, I surrender! I–” Before he could finish his sentence, John leaped forward and hit him around the head with the butt of his gun, knocking him out cold.

“Should we kill him?” he asked Arthur.

“Nah, let’s take him to Dutch.” 

“You can carry him. I ain’t touching that piece of shit,” John muttered.

“Not strong enough, you mean?” Arthur teased him.

John laughed and swung at him, missing on purpose. Arthur pocketed the cash and the ring he found on Bronte before he lifted him up with a grunt and threw him over his shoulder. 

“I think Dutch wants to have a little chat, Mr. Bronte.”

“Let’s go, come on!” John jogged ahead, making sure the way was clear. Arthur tried to keep up, but Bronte’s weight was slowing him down considerably. 

“Shit,” John cursed ahead of him, standing at the railing by the stairs.

“Put your guns down!” Someone yelled outside. Looked like the law was here already. 

“Come on, Morgan… we’re getting the hell outta here.”

With John’s help, he got Bronte down to the shore where the other three were waiting for them already. They pulled Bronte’s unconscious body onboard and Thomas pushed the boat off into the water. 

Dutch smacked Bronte’s head to wake him up. “Hey, big man. We gonna ransom you or what?”

“You’re pathetic,” Bronte spat. 

“Oh, I am? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, you’re the one deserving pity, my friend. All of your men… all of your money… it weren’t no match for a bunch of bumpkins.”

Bronte’s face was taut with anger. “You are nothing. You do nothing. You mean nothing. You stand for nothing. Me? I run a city. And when the law catch up to you, you will die like nothing. I _am_ this country. You? You? You are what people are running from. I possess things that you will never understand. You don’t even possess your own men!” Bronte looked past Dutch, at the rest of the men in the boat. “A thousand dollars to the man who kills him and sets me free.”

All of them just glared back at him.

“What are you gonna say now?” Dutch asked him.

“They are even bigger fools than you. No doubt. The law will find you. Already, the dogs are on the way.”

“Oh, yeah. Oh, you are so right.” Dutch took a step forward, bracing one hand on the edge of the boat and grabbing Bronte’s head with the other one. “They are good at smelling filth, huh? So filth has got to be… disposed of.” With those words, he pushed Bronte’s face under the water, holding him there while he struggled. “Your friends, the Pinkertons gonna come and rescue you?” He pulled Bronte’s head above the surface, letting him gasp for air. “You repulsive little maggot!” Again, he pushed him under, his features contorted with rage. “Call them, now!” he growled. “You call them!”

Angelo Bronte’s body stopped thrashing, the water stilling around his head. Dutch let go and stepped back, staring down at the lifeless man hanging over the side of the boat for a moment, before he grabbed him and shoved him into the water towards a nearby alligator. 

Everyone had watched silently, all too stunned to say or do anything. Arthur’s ears were ringing, and he felt sick to his stomach. 

John was the first to break the silence. “Jesus. What part of your philosophy books cover feeding a feller to a goddamn alligator, Dutch?” He looked back and forth between the water and Dutch’s face in disbelief. 

“The part that covers weakness. That part.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys thank you all so much for the comments ;-;  
> I'm behind with replying but please know that i read and appreciate all of them tons they mean the world to me <3

“Arthur. Can we talk?” John’s face was tense.

“Sure. What’s going on?”

They walked a little further away from the group, leaning against the outside of the gazebo.

“Dutch sent Abigail to Saint Denis today. Take another look at the bank.”

“Her too?” Arthur frowned deeply.

“Yes, but that’s – that’s not what I wanted to talk about. When she was in Saint Denis, she met with Evelyn Miller. And he told her something that I think you should know.”

“Well, out with it then.” Arthur was getting impatient.

John rolled his eyes at his gruff tone of voice. “He said that Cornwall’s men are planning to attack the reservation. Three days from today.”

“What do you mean, attack it?” Arthur’s fingers closed tighter around the deer figurine he had been fiddling with.

“I don’t know. He said there will be an attack and they need help. They don’t have a lot of people left. Let alone fighting men.”

“We have to go.”

“Well, yes, about that…” John’s voice trailed off as he looked past Arthur’s shoulder and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Arthur turned around and his body froze in shock.

“Charles?”

Charles’ eyes met his, and he smiled at him, but even from the distance, Arthur could see that his eyes looked sad. 

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked as he jogged up to him, still dumbfounded. Charles got off Taima’s back, but before he could say anything, Arthur pulled him in a tight hug. “God, I’m so glad to see you.”

It had been two days since their attack on Bronte, and the mood had been tense since. It had turned a lot of people wary of Dutch – or had made people that had already been wary before be open about it now. Even Bill hadn’t said anything in his defence after they’d come back. Dutch had withdrawn again for the most part – occasionally sending off someone to do some more scouting in Saint Denis for the bank job. He’d sent the women, Karen, Tilly and now Abigail too apparently – all of them separately, claiming they wouldn’t be in danger of being recognised. Still, it hadn’t sat right with most of them. Sure, they all knew how to take care of themselves, but to send them out alone? After all the havoc they had wreaked in Saint Denis?

Arthur had buried his face in the crook of Charles’ neck and only reluctantly let Charles loosen the embrace, but that reluctance was gone when Charles kissed him deeply. 

“I missed you, Arthur.” He placed his hand on Arthur’s cheek and eyed his face closely. “You look tired.”

“I missed you, too.” Arthur leaned in and kissed him, ignoring the second part of what he’d said. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

Charles frowned, pressing his lips together, looking unsure of what to say. “They didn’t tell you?”

“John just told me about the attack. I didn’t know that you were coming, though.”

“Well, um, this isn’t… I mean, I was on my way already when they found out about that. I met Mr. Miller in Saint Denis before I came here, and he told me about it then. I… I got a message two days ago asking if I could come pick up some people. Who said they want to stay at the reservation for the time being.”

“Oh.” Arthur’s voice sounded hollow to his own ears. He stared down at the ground, watching it blur as tears filled his eyes. He blinked them away rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I thought you knew.” Charles squeezed his hand and reached for his chin, trying to make Arthur look at him, but Arthur freed his head and looked away. 

“No, I, uh– it– it makes sense. Of course they’re– it’s good.” 

It did make sense. And it _was_ good. But his words convinced neither Charles nor himself.

“Who’s, uh, who’s coming?” he asked Charles and finally looked up at him. 

“I don’t know, actually. Hosea told Abigail to talk to Evelyn Miller in Saint Denis if they need him. He’s, uh, he’s been helping them a lot for a while now, you know? So he’s talking to someone from the reservation almost daily. – Anyway, I don’t know if it was Abigail, but somebody talked to Mr. Miller and tell him they have a few people that want to leave. Told him to ask if they can come and if somebody could come down here to show them the way.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “I see.”

“Charles!” Tilly called out from the front door. She came running excitedly and flung herself around his neck. “You got my message!”

“It was you?” Arthur asked her.

She pulled back from the hug, looking guilty and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I–”

But Arthur shook his head. “No,” he interrupted her. “Don’t apologise. You did good.”

“I don’t– I feel bad, Arthur, I do, but… after what John said happened with Bronte, I just… I don’t like what’s happening.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

She smiled at him, but still looked conflicted. 

“Who else is coming?” Charles asked her. 

“I’m not sure. Some people said they had to think about it. Molly is definitely coming, though.”

“Why don’t you, uh, go clear that up?” Arthur asked Charles. 

“You sure? Arthur, if you want to talk first–”

“No, no. It’s alright. I’ll, um, just be…” He couldn’t actually come up with anything, so he just let his voice trail off and walked away, leaving Charles and Tilly to talk. He went inside, not feeling like listening to everyone discuss whether or not they were going to leave, and watched everything from the windows in his room instead.

Tilly had done the right thing. He knew that. He _agreed_ with that. But it still hurt. He didn’t want the gang to split up. But unless he could convince Dutch to give up the bank job and leave too, he knew that was going to happen. A part of the gang would stay with Dutch while others left. And he also knew which of the two he was going to be a part of. 

“Arthur?” Charles knocked on the open door. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Arthur didn’t turn away from the windows. “You found out who’s coming?”

“Yeah.” From the sounds of it, Charles hadn’t moved from the doorframe despite his question. “Most of the women, except Sadie, Karen, and possibly Abigail. – She is sending Jack though. Also Pearson.”

Arthur grunted. “So he’s letting us starve?”

Charles laughed. “That’s what you get for taking his food for granted and complaining so much.”

“Took a lot of things for granted, it seems like,” Arthur muttered quietly. 

Charles didn’t reply, but he sighed quietly.

“What about Lenny?” Arthur asked then while he watched the boy outside carrying a bale of hay to the horses and after he set it down, stopped to pet Taima’s neck. 

“Well, we haven’t talked about the attack yet. Thought it might be best to tell everyone together about that. But as for coming with me… No.”

Arthur furrowed his brows. “He’s going.”

“He said he didn’t want to.”

“I don’t care. He’s going with you.”

Arthur could hear Charles pushing himself off the door frame and walking closer, and then he felt Charles’ hand against his back. “I’ll gladly take him,” Charles said. “But you have to tell him that.”

At the amused tone of Charles’ voice, Arthur couldn’t help but laugh too. “He’s gonna be mad.” He shook his head. “But I don’t want him to come to the bank.”

“You’re going through with that?”

“I don’t want to. But Dutch won’t let it go.” Arthur sighed and then finally turned around to Charles.

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” Charles asked.

Arthur sighed. “No.”

“You having nightmares again?”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not it.” Charles gave him a questioning look, and Arthur felt himself blush. “Just miss you holding me,” he mumbled. 

Charles smiled softly at him. “Me too.” He pulled Arthur in for a kiss and then hugged him tightly. “But at least we’ll have a good night’s sleep tonight.”

Arthur pulled back so he could look at Charles. “You’re staying?”

Charles nodded. “I talked to the others and since we’re taking a wagon, it’ll be at least a full day’s travel, anyway. Makes more sense to leave early in the morning so we can get the most out of it.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if that was the actual reason, but he was glad nevertheless. He pulled Charles closer, pressing a kiss against his jaw, before burying his face in the crook of his neck.

  


“I’m not going,” Lenny said gruffly. “I _told you_ I’m not going.” He glared at Charles. 

“Lenny,” Arthur started, but Lenny wouldn’t let him finish.

“No! I’m staying here. I’m not going to let you send me away. I ain’t _a child_.”

“Actually, that’s exactly why we need you, Lenny,” Charles said. “And we could need some of you fellers as well. – I know you have… business… to finish up here,” he added quickly when he saw Bill stiffen. “I’m not talking about coming with me now. But we… overheard that there’s an attack planned. Full scale; a lot more than we’ve dealt with so far – and a lot more than we _can_ deal with. Most of the tribe has been killed – most of the men in fighting age, especially. If– if you could come, we’d at least stand a fighting chance. If not… well.” Charles fell silent. 

“When is it?” Javier asked him.

“Three days from now.”

“So you think you can just come back here after abandoning us and we’ll just drop everything at your command?”

Arthur stiffened when Dutch suddenly showed up behind them; the hairs on the back of his neck standing up at the cold tone of his voice. 

Charles’ jaw clenched visibly. He stared into the fire, not turning his head towards Dutch, even as he answered. “I didn’t abandon you. And I’m not commanding anyone.”

“No? What else would you call leaving your family behind?”

“Wasn’t it _you_ who talked about how the Indians lost everything to savagery?” Lenny asked Dutch and stood up. His hands were clenched to fists. “And now you want us to– to what? Sit here while we know they’re being slaughtered?”

“Ain’t our fight,” Bill muttered under his breath. Lenny turned to glare at him, and Bill raised his chin defiantly. “I say we let the Indians fend for themselves.”

“We have our own business to take care of,” Dutch said, looking reaffirmed by Bill’s agreement.

“So, what are you saying?” Arthur asked. “Robbing a bank is more important than their lives?”

“And what of _our_ lives, Arthur?” Dutch asked back, his voice taking on that pitiful tone that made Arthur’s blood boil. “We need the money from that bank to leave.”

“It’s not like that bank’s going anywhere. And I don’t think we should be showing our faces in that city right now, anyway. Not after what we did.”

“And waste more time when we’re supposed to be getting _away from here?_ ” Dutch shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “We don’t have the time for this.” He didn’t wait for a reply before he turned around and left. 

“Guess that’s that,” Bill muttered and stood up, walking away as well. 

Lenny watched both of them leave, his brows furrowed angrily. “I’ll come with you, Charles,” he said then.

Charles gave him a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Arthur exhaled, relieved, smiling encouragingly at Lenny.

“If we all go,” Javier thought aloud, “Dutch will _have to_ wait with the bank job. Can’t rob a bank if he’s got no men.”

“How are we gonna convince Bill and Micah?” John asked him.

“Three men can’t rob that bank. He’ll still have to wait.”

“Yeah, but will he?” John shook his head. “After what he did to Bronte, I’m not so sure we can count on him acting reasonable decisions.”

“You think killing Bronte was unreasonable?”

“It’s not about _killing him_ , Javier. But you didn’t see it. That wasn’t– that wasn’t _Dutch_ , you know?”

“You should go, John,” Arthur said. “You and Abigail and Jack should get out of here.”

“You’re probably right,” he said, although he still sounded conflicted. 

“I’ll try to talk to Dutch tomorrow. Maybe… maybe he’ll listen.”

“I’m sure he’ll be more amicable once I’m gone again.” Charles shrugged. He didn’t seem to care much that Dutch didn’t like him, but it hurt Arthur a lot. “Thank you, Arthur.”

John left shortly after – it was his turn to take watch – and Javier went to his tent, guitar music coming from it soon after. With John taking over, Sadie joined them at the fire in his stead. 

“You can definitely count me in,” she said when Charles told her about the attack. “But tell me everything. How’d you find out about it?”

“Eagle Flies found out about it. He overheard some of Cornwall’s men talk about it.”

“What are they trying to achieve, anyway? Just kill them all so they can get their oil?”

“Pretty much. After Arthur stole the documents from Cornwall’s office, Mr. Miller directed some public attention to the issue and stopped them from moving the reservation. They’ve been trying to get the tribe to move on their own – smaller attacks, harassment, threats, all that. They’ve been destroying the forest, hunting down animals and letting them rot so they wouldn’t have enough food, damming the river, all sorts of things. But I guess they’re growing tired of the games. There’s not a lot of people left and they know that.”

“Isn’t there anything they could do, you know, legally?”

“In theory? Sure. In practice, though… appointments get moved months to the back – if they get set at all, lawmen telling them they don’t have enough proof.” Charles shook his head regretfully. “Truth is, nobody cares. Cornwall makes money. Indians don’t.”

Sadie’s expression darkened, and she pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from her pockets and scribbled something down. 

“What’s that?” Arthur asked her.

“My list.”

“Your list?”

“People I’m gonna kill. Leviticus Cornwall just made it. I should probably send him a card.”

Arthur laughed. “No doubt we’ll be rid of that problem soon, then.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not getting through it as fast as I’d like. Colm O’Driscoll’s still alive, after all.”

“If it makes you feel better, he’s been on Dutch’s list for years. But somehow I don’t think he’ll be on yours that long.”

“Let’s hope so.” Sadie stood up, putting the list back in her pocket. “It’s good to see you, Charles. Make sure to say goodbye before you leave tomorrow, yeah? Goodnight, fellers.”

“Night, Sadie.”

“What about you?” Charles asked Arthur, taking his hand. “You tired too?”

“Lately? Constantly.”

Charles nodded understandingly and the two of them set up a place to sleep too – Charles didn’t like sleeping inside the house, so Arthur brought his stuff outside. Charles was lying behind him, arm slung around Arthur’s waist, and pressed a kiss against the back of his neck. 

“I’ve missed this.” Charles squeezed him tighter for a moment before he laid his head down, forehead leaning against Arthur’s back.

“Me too.”

Despite what he’d said before being true – he really was tired – and despite him feeling a lot more comfortable and relaxed than he had any of the nights when Charles had been gone, Arthur couldn’t fall asleep. 

Javier was still playing his guitar, but when he went to sleep too, the camp fell silent. – Or as close to silent as it ever did. Arthur turned around, keeping Charles’ arm around himself and looked at him. The moon was waning, barely giving off any light, but the fire allowed him to see Charles’ face. He was sleeping deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with his breaths. Arthur softly ran his fingers across Charles’ stubbly cheek.

His head was still spinning with everything Charles had talked about. He had to make sure he’d be able to go help the night of the attack.

Trying to get Dutch to lay off the bank completely was a lost battle, he knew that. But convincing him to wait with it until after they helped the Indians might be possible. Even though John had a point when he’d said that he didn’t trust Dutch wouldn’t still do the attack even if they all left, there had to be a voice of reason left in him.

Sighing, Arthur turned his attention back to Charles again. He was glad to have him back, even if it was just for a night. 

“Charles?” he whispered, touching his cheek again, trying to wake him up gently. 

Charles grunted questioningly, his brows furrowing.

“You awake?”

Charles grunted again, but when Arthur leaned closer to kiss him, he tightened his arm around Arthur’s waist and shifted closer but didn’t open his eyes. 

“You couldn’t have thought of that before I fell asleep?” he grumbled, when Arthur pushed his hand under Charles’ shirt, touching his bare stomach, but he sounded more amused than mad. 

“Sorry.”

Charles laughed, squinting at him. “Come here.” 

Arthur leaned in and kissed him deeply, tongue pushing past Charles’, humming contentedly when Charles lifted his free hand to hold him close.

“Come with me,” Arthur whispered against his lips. Charles yawned, but stood up with him and Arthur grabbed his hand, pulling him along. 

“You don’t wanna go upstairs?” Charles asked, his voice gruff and sleepy, when Arthur walked past the house.

“No.”

“Where we goin’ then?”

Arthur walked towards the old stable behind the house, pulling Charles inside with him. “Why here?” Charles mumbled, his words muffled by Arthur’s kisses. 

Arthur just shrugged, not wanting to get into the reason right now, and deepened the kiss, unbuttoning Charles’ shirt so he could touch him. 

Charles didn’t ask again; finally waking up fully, he pushed Arthur against the wall in the back, greedily tearing at his clothes to get them off. Arthur turned around so his chest was against the wall, pulling Charles flush against his back, and Charles hummed approvingly, kissing Arthur’s shoulders. He snaked one arm around Arthur, placing his palm flat against his chest, and then his other hand wandered down to Arthur’s backside, pushing a spit-slicked finger inside of him. Arthur swallowed a groan, the sensation still a little odd at first, but when Charles added a second finger, he arched his back to give him an easier angle. 

Impatient for more, he reached back to grab Charles’ arm and stop his movements. “Come on,” he grunted.

“You sure?” Charles asked teasingly, clearly enjoying Arthur’s eagerness. 

“Yes.”

Charles kissed his shoulder again, biting down harshly at the same time he pushed inside of him. A choked groan escaped Arthur’s lips and for a moment the pain was almost too intense, but then Charles wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s erection and started jerking him off, licking across the spot he’d bitten. He slowly pushed deeper, the pleasure now overshadowing the pain. 

“God, Arthur,” he groaned against his skin, pulling back before thrusting hard. “I missed you so much.”

Arthur’s fingernails scraped against the wooden wall, his eyes screwed shut. “I missed you too,” he choked out, barely able to form the words. He braced his forearm against the wall, biting down on it to hold back his moans as Charles started to thrust faster. 

Charles’ breath was ghosting across his skin, his hand still working Arthur’s erection, while his other one was against his chest, fingernails digging into Arthur’s skin. Arthur rutted back against the movements of Charles’ hips, his climax building quickly. He cursed before he bit down hard on his forearm to keep quiet. Charles groaned roughly when Arthur clenched around him and he thrusted faster until his own climax followed soon after. 

They both stood there for a moment, catching their breath before they put on their clothes again. Charles pulled Arthur in for a passionate kiss, making his head spin all over again, before they stumbled back to camp to go to sleep.

  


“Arthur.”

Groaning, Arthur swatted Charles’ hand away that was tickling his ear. 

“My turn now,” Charles said, sounding amused, before he leaned in to kiss him. “Not as fun on the other end, is it?”

“Are you saying it wasn’t worth it?”

“Oh, it was absolutely worth it.” Charles laughed and kissed him again. “But I still get to wake you up.”

“Well, I am awake.”

“Don’t count. Your eyes are still closed.”

Arthur opened his eyes the tiniest sliver for a second and then closed them again. “There.”

“Could I convince you with a cup of coffee?”

“I think that might convince me.”

Charles laughed, pressing a peck against his cheek, and then stood up. He returned way too quickly and Arthur groaned, but then sat up, rubbing his eyes before he took the coffee Charles was offering him.

“Thank you.” Arthur took a sip of his coffee. “The sun’s barely up,” he muttered.

“Well, we have a long day ahead of us.”

“Oh.” The reminder sombered Arthur’s mood. “Right.”

Charles’ expression turned more serious too, and he sighed, reaching out for Arthur’s hand. “It’ll be over soon.”

“ _Our lives_ might be over soon.” He felt bad for the words as soon as they were out of his mouth when he saw Charles’ face drop. 

“Don’t say that. It’ll be okay.”

“Even– even _if_ the bank job goes well,” he said with a sigh. “Then what? We’ll go to _Tahiti?_ ” He groaned. “I don’t wanna live on a tropical island.”

“Might not be so bad.” Charles kissed his knuckles. “Maybe mangoes really are as good as Dutch keeps saying.”

Arthur snorted, nearly getting coffee up his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

“We could go swimming all the time.”

Arthur scrunched up his nose.

“Come on, you liked swimming with me in that little pond.”

“Yeah, it’s not the swimming I liked.”

Charles laughed. “Fair enough. You can _watch me_ swim all the time in Tahiti. How’s that sound?”

“Better.”

Arthur’s mood dropped again soon though, when Charles started packing up his things and Arthur watched Lenny and Miss Grimshaw ready the wagon they would take with them. With the amount of people leaving, it would be easier to stow their things there than each of them having a fully loaded horse. 

“I’ll be there in two days,” Arthur said when he was saying goodbye to Charles. The others had gone ahead; Charles had told them he’d catch up in a few minutes. “I’ll work it out with Dutch somehow.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Charles hugged him tightly. “It was really good seeing you again.”

“Yeah.” Arthur kissed him deeply, not wanting to let go. But eventually he had to, and as he watched Charles ride away for the second time – even though this time he knew when he’d see him again – it felt somehow even worse than the first time.

“Well, wasn’t that just a darling display,” Micah sneered behind him. 

Arthur gritted his teeth. “Unless you want me to make good on my promise right here and right now, I suggest you keep walking.”

“Touchy, touchy.”

Arthur balled his hands to fists, but before he could throw a punch, Micah walked past him. It was almost disappointing. 

He was sure the next chance to punch Micah would come along, but frankly, it couldn’t come soon enough. 

  


* * *

  


“You talked to Dutch yet?” John asked him later, as the two of them, Javier, Uncle, and Sadie were sitting around the fire. 

Arthur shook his head. “Not yet.” He let his eyes trail across the camp; it looked empty and sad with so many people gone. Only eight of them left now, including himself. “I’ll do it later.”

“There’s not a lot of time left. We could probably make it if we left the morning of that day, but I think it’d be best if we left tomorrow. So they have time showing us the ropes.”

“I know. I said I’ll do it later.” 

John was right, though. Arthur was procrastinating, even though he shouldn’t. He didn’t want to go talk to Dutch because he knew it wouldn’t turn out well. 

“You tired?” Sadie asked John when he yawned and stretched himself.

“Yeah. Haven’t slept yet. Was a quiet night, though.” A mischievous grin appeared on his face. “Thought I heard something in that old stable behind the house at one point, but it turned out to be nothing. Probably just some animals.”

It took a few seconds until Arthur realised what he was talking about, but when it hit him, he felt himself blushing furiously and he kicked John’s leg, sputtering embarrassed. Had it not been for his reaction, no one except John and he would’ve known what was going on but as it was – when it clicked, Sadie and Javier burst out laughing while Uncle just looked really uncomfortable. 

“I hate you so much,” Arthur muttered at John. “Shoulda sold you to that traveling circus when I had the chance.”

“Too late for that now. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

Arthur groaned and swatted at him when John ruffled his hair as he walked past him to get another cup of coffee. He glared at Sadie and Javier, who still hadn’t fully stopped laughing, but that just made them burst out anew. 

“I hate everybody here,” he muttered into his coffee.

  


Trying to talk to Dutch about the attack at the reservation went about as well as Arthur had expected. Especially with Micah standing next to Dutch the entire time. Was Dutch nothing more than Micah’s puppet now? 

Arthur bit back the comment, not wanting to make the situation even worse. He went downstairs again, just barely stopping himself from punching through one of the last remaining intact windows out of frustration. 

“Judging by your face, that conversation must’ve been swell.” Sadie cocked an eyebrow.

Arthur sighed deeply. “About as well as I expected.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know. He refuses to talk about it. Only option I’m seeing is to go and hope he has enough common sense to wait until he has enough men.”

“Why come back to do it at all? Do you really think that will go over well?”

“No. But Dutch does. And he’ll go through with it either way.”

“Even with you and Javier and even if you take Uncle… that’s not enough men,” Sadie said. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Well, what do you want me to do? Charles and Hosea sure as hell ain’t coming. And I’m not taking Lenny or John.”

“So why are _you_ going? You got a death wish now? If Dutch wants to live in a fantasy world where we’ll get a bunch of money and sail away to Tahiti, then let him. But don’t throw your life away by following him blindly.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. You’re just too scared.”

“Sadie–”

“No. You know it’ll kill Charles if you’re gone. And Jack? Tilly? Ask anyone and they’ll all tell you they’d rather have you alive than Dutch.”

“Micah?”

Sadie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Who the hell cares about his opinion, anyway?”

“Dutch, apparently.”

“Anyone that hasn’t lost their mind?”

Arthur clenched his jaw, his shoulders tensing. “Shut up. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m seeing the situation a lot clearer than you.”

Arthur tried to turn away, but Sadie grabbed his shoulders and held him in place.

“I know you love Dutch. I know he’s done a lot for you over the years, but he is not that person anymore. Look at the way he’s been acting, the things he’s been saying, the risks he’s put all of you in. How can you follow him to this bank after all that?”

“I have to.” Arthur pushed her hands off him and stomped off, ignoring her calling after him.

“You ready?”

Arthur turned to look at John, who was walking closer until he stood next to Arthur, patting his shoulder encouragingly. With a sigh, Arthur looked up at the windows on the second floor. Dutch was inside – hadn’t been out all day. “You really think he’ll wait?”

“He knows they’re not enough men. It’d be suicide. Hell, I’m not sure it won’t be even with you and Javier coming back.”

Arthur nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from the house and turning around. Sadie and Javier were sitting on their horses already, only waiting for Arthur. “Let’s hope Dutch has enough common sense left in him to see that.”

John nodded, shouldering his satchel, and the two of them walked to their horses.

“Ready, fellers?” Sadie asked them, impatient to leave. Arthur and John nodded, climbing into the saddles, and the four of them took off. 

  


* * *

  


“Almost there.” Arthur stroked the sweat-soaked neck of his horse. “You did good today.”

They’d been riding all day, only stopping when their horses needed a break or drink some water. None of them had eaten more than some dried meat while in the saddle. They had passed Donner Falls a good while ago, so they shouldn’t be too far away now.

By the time they reached the reservation, the sun had set a while ago and it was getting colder fast. After being in Lemoyne for so long, Arthur found himself shivering. 

“We’ll take care of the horses,” one of the Indians that greeted them said. “You should go see Rains Fall. He’ll be glad to see you’re here.”

Arthur fished a sugar cube from his pocket and fed it to his horse, but before they could go see the chief, Arthur heard Charles calling out his name. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” he said as he hugged Arthur tightly.

“Of course I came. I told you we’d be here if you needed help.”

“I know. I just mean… because of Dutch.” He smiled apologetically. “Let’s talk later. Rains Fall wants to see you.”

Rains Fall greeted them warmly; he seemed relieved that they were here. Apart from him though, there were a lot of distrustful eyes following them – not that Arthur blamed them. After everything they’d been through – and were still going through – was it any surprise they would be on edge around them?

“I’m sure you’re all tired,” Rains Fall said after welcoming them. “You’ve had a long ride. We will talk tomorrow. Show you everything you need to know.”

“Thank you.” Arthur reached out to shake the hand Rains Fall offered him. 

“Charles, would you stay back for a moment?”

Charles nodded. “I’ll come see you after, okay?” he said to Arthur.

“Sure.”

One of the younger boys was waiting for them outside, telling them he’d show them where the rest of their gang was. Jack greeted them excitedly, but then took off with the other boy, ignoring Abigail shouting after him not to go too far since it was time for bed soon.

It was great seeing everybody again – especially seeing them in better spirits than they had been in a long time. Even though Arthur was exhausted from the long day and didn’t feel like talking much, it was nice to just sit at the fire with them. And to finally get some proper food in his stomach.

Charles joined them soon after, sitting down next to Arthur at the fire. He looked at the group sitting around the fire.

“It’s probably going to be a quiet night,” he said. “They’re still putting up guards, of course, and we should be prepared for anything, but with the attack they have planned for tomorrow, we don’t think they’ll do anything tonight. You’ll be shown everything tomorrow. Most likely points they’ll attack from, where more men are needed, and the plans Eagle Flies and I have worked on. Just let him take the lead and do what you’re asked to do. Last thing needed here is more strangers coming in and thinking they can take over.” He didn’t look at anyone as he said the last few sentences, keeping his eyes on the flames instead. His body had tensed slightly, as if he wasn’t sure how they’d be taken, but everyone just nodded. He was right, of course. 

“You want to come walk for a bit?” he asked Arthur when he finished eating. “Not too far, I know you’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah. Sounds nice.”

They stood up, but as they were walking away, Arthur heard John and Sadie snicker behind them and he looked back over his shoulders to glare at them.

“What’s that about?” Charles asked, clipping the lamp to his belt and taking Arthur’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“You don’t wanna know. They’re just being awful.”

“Come on, tell me.”

Arthur grimaced. “John, uh, heard us the night you were down at Shady Belle. Made some joke about it the next morning.”

“Oh.” Charles wrinkled his nose, but laughed. “And I’m sure you took it with as much grace as you did them laughing just now.”

“Why’s everyone against me?” Arthur dramatically muttered heavenwards. “You of all people should be on my side.”

“I am on your side. I just enjoy seeing you get all flustered. – Like right now,” he taunted him when he saw his expression. “Why did we go there anyway?” he asked then. “Why not upstairs?”

Arthur grunted noncommittally and shrugged. “Did you not like it?”

“That’s not what I said. Just curious, is all.” He looked at Arthur expectantly, but didn’t ask again when he still got no answer. 

They didn’t stray too far, walking until they reached the footpath and then following it back until they reached the tipis. 

“Did you already set up your tent?” Charles asked him. 

“Someone else did that already while we were talking to Rains Fall. I think the feller that got our horses brought our bags to them.”

“Good. I have to grab my stuff, but I’ll be with you in a minute if you wanna go ahead already?”

Arthur shook his head, instead waiting for Charles to grab his things, and they walked towards the gang’s camp together. “You’re not staying with the rest of the gang?” Arthur asked him. He hadn’t intended for it to sound judgmental, but Charles looked like he felt a little guilty, anyway.

“It’s not that I’m distancing myself from them. It’s great to have them here. But I’m…” He paused for a moment, trying to think of the right words to use. “They’ve shown me a lot, you know? Of their customs. And I’m learning the language. It makes me feel closer to my mother.”

“Of course.” Arthur squeezed his hand reassuringly. “That’s really great, Charles.”

“And it’s not that they’re not glad about the help. Rains Fall just asked them to set up camp down there because a lot, or all, actually, of the people here have gone through really horrible things and having strangers here is… scary. Even if they’re here to help.”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand. And I’m sure everyone else does, too,” Arthur said softly.

“I just don’t want there to be any conflict. They’ve been through enough. All they want is to live their lives and– and they don’t even get that.” 

Arthur didn’t know what to say – what _was_ there to say to something like this? It was barbaric, plain and simple.

  


* * *

  


They spent most of the next day walking the terrain, trying to learn as much about it as possible in one day. Eagle Flies had thought it through well. He’d spied on Cornwall’s men a lot, had heard them talk about the attack on multiple occasions – and from what Arthur gathered had been the reason they’d been able to prepare for several of the smaller attacks. 

Cornwall’s men would be attacking at night, relying on the dark and the element of surprise – of course, not knowing that they didn’t really have that advantage. The tribe and the gang would try to keep them as far away as possible from the centre, fending them off on the edges of the reservation to keep them away from the children and elders and anyone not able to fight. 

They didn’t know how many men Cornwall would send, whether they’d be outnumbered or outnumbering them, but Arthur felt that they were prepared well. In fact, he felt a lot better than he had about any of the plans Dutch had come up with lately. The thought pained him; he’d been too busy to think much about Dutch all day, but of course he still worried. 

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, as Eagle Flies, Javier and he walked back, they were greeted by an unexpected face. 

“Bill,” Arthur said, surprised, “what are you doing here?”

“Almost getting killed, apparently,” Bill said gruffly.

“Well, what did you expect?” Charles asked. He sounded angry as well. It seemed they’d been arguing already. “You know we’re preparing to be attacked.”

Bill looked like he wanted to punch Charles, but being surrounded by a group of men that all looked like they wanted to punch _him_ , he seemed to think better of it. 

“I’m here because of Dutch,” he said, turning to Arthur. 

Arthur clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath to brace himself. “What about him?”

“He says we’ll go for the bank tomorrow.”

Closing his eyes, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing the urge to curse. “Seriously? Is he _trying_ to get himself killed? Who’s even left? You, Micah and Uncle?”

“That’s why I’m here, Arthur. We need more men.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do about that?” Arthur yelled before he caught himself, biting on the inside of his cheek and exhaling sharply, trying to calm himself down. “We can’t leave now. We won’t.”

Bill gritted his teeth. “So that’s it then? You’re gonna choose a bunch of strangers over Dutch? Let him get himself killed?”

John put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, noticing the way he tensed. “Dutch knows we have to do this,” he said. “If he can’t wait one more day to go after the bank, then that’s his decision.”

Bill looked at Arthur, waiting for him to say something, but Arthur stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say – but even if he had, guilt was constricting his chest so much, he didn’t think he’d be able to speak even if he tried. 

Bill stared at them hatefully, but then shook his head and turned to leave. “If any of you come to your senses,” he said over his shoulder, “we’ll ride off to Saint Denis tomorrow at noon.”

Most of the crowd that had gathered dispersed, but Arthur stood frozen to the spot.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” John said quietly before he left too. 

Charles had stayed, standing a few feet away from Arthur, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring in the direction Bill had disappeared to. “So what are you going to do?” he asked after a few minutes, his voice tense.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you leaving?” He turned his head to look at Arthur. His expression was stony, but in his eyes Arthur could see that he was afraid. 

“Of course not.” The words didn’t come out with as much conviction as Arthur had wanted them to. 

Charles nodded, but didn’t look fully convinced. 

“Charles.” Arthur’s voice broke. He stepped forward, reaching out to touch Charles’ arm. “I’m staying. Okay? I just– I’m basically sending Dutch to die.”

“But you’re _not_. You’re not sending him anywhere! You’re not responsible for his bad choices.”

“Why are you so angry at me?” Arthur asked, his furious voice making the question sound hypocritical. “I’m here, aren’t I? And I’m _staying_. But why can’t you understand that this isn’t easy for me? He’s going to _die_ in that bank! He’s going to _die_ and you don’t fucking care!”

“Enough, Arthur.” Hosea interrupted his yelling, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and turning him around, hugging him tightly. Arthur sank into his arms, feeling terrified and furious and sad and _just so sick of it all_.

When he managed to get himself together, Charles had left. It was just Hosea and him now. “How are you doing this, Hosea?” Arthur asked him. “How can you be so… calm?”

“I don’t think I am.” Hosea sighed, watching the horses graze at their posts in the distance. “But frankly, I feel like I’ve lost and been grieving Dutch already. He hasn’t been the man I thought I knew in a long time.”

“This is all Micah’s fault,” Arthur muttered darkly. “ _He’s_ the one that’s done this to Dutch. I should’ve let them hang him in Strawberry. None of this would’ve happened.”

“We don’t know that.” 

“I do.”

“You can’t get caught up in the _could have been’s_ , Arthur. You’re doing the right thing here. I know you love Dutch, but you can’t allow that love to pull you to your death. – If anything, it’s my fault. I’m the one that came up with the plans for that bank in the first place.”

“Yeah, but you changed your mind.”

“And Dutch wouldn’t change his.”

“Yes, _because of Micah_.” Arthur balled his hands to fists and closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to take his anger out on Hosea like he had on Charles. 

“That might be. Or it might be that his pride and avarice finally got the best of him.”

Arthur shook his head lightly as Hosea walked away. _Avarice_. He still remembered the day he’d learned that word. From Hosea, of course. He didn’t know anyone else who used that word. It had been years ago. Before John had joined them, even. And Hosea and Dutch had been in a fight over some job or another, and Hosea had called Dutch avaricious. He’d been fuming, the angriest Arthur had ever seen him, but Arthur standing up from where he’d been hiding to listen and piping up to ask what that word meant had made him laugh. 

The memory had calmed him down some and Arthur went looking for Charles to apologise. There wasn’t a lot of time left before they’d have to leave to get in position, so Arthur had to do that now because he didn’t want to leave things like this until tomorrow. Charles was talking to Eagle Flies, and even though he still looked upset, he nodded when Arthur told him he wanted to talk. 

“I’m really sorry, Charles,” Arthur said as they were strolling a little ways down the path. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Charles didn’t reply for a moment, but then his expression softened. “I do care, Arthur,” he said. “About Dutch. I just–” He shook his head lightly. “I just don’t want him to drag you down with himself. And yet, I don’t want you to stay because of me. Because if you do that and Dutch– something happens to him… you’ll blame me for the rest of your life.”

“I would never blame you for that, Charles. If anything, Micah’s the one to blame.”

Charles didn’t look convinced by his words. “If you want to leave…” His voice was shaky, and he averted his eyes, swallowing empty. “I’m not gonna stop you. I’m sure somebody else can take over for you here.”

Arthur thought about it. – He didn’t want to, but he did. The bank was a suicide mission. It was insane to go. And yet. 

“I’m staying,” he said before he thought about it any longer. 

Charles exhaled, relieved, pulling him in a tight hug. Arthur hugged him back, burying his face in the crook of Charles’ neck and trying to bury the guilt deep within himself.

  


* * *

  


They split themselves into the groups they’d talked about earlier that day, and everyone was in position as it slowly grew darker around them. Arthur stared out into the darkness, listening for movement around him. His bow was ready – Eagle Flies had given him some pointers this morning since he still wasn’t very good at it. But they’d agreed that it would be better to stick to silent weapons as long as possible, taking out as many of Cornwall’s men as they could without all of them getting alarmed. 

Arthur heard the footsteps before he saw the man creeping closer. He lifted his bow, readying the arrow, but before he could fire it, the man was hit, falling to the ground. It looked like Eagle Flies had hit him – he was hiding out a little further northeast from Arthur. 

He heard hissing whispers, others who must have seen the first man go down. Keeping the arrow ready, he tried to locate where they were coming from, taking out the next man as soon as he could make out his silhouette. 

There were a lot of men – more than he had expected. It made him wonder if maybe they had known that they would be prepared for the attack. He could hear struggling from the southwest – Javier. Trying to keep an eye out in every direction, he hurried towards the sound, finding Javier on his back, one of Cornwall’s men strangling him. He hadn’t heard Arthur coming closer, and he tore the man off of Javier before stabbing him with his knife. Javier nodded with thanks, but they didn’t waste more time before Arthur ran back to his position and Javier back to his. 

Arthur wondered how the groups at the south of the reservation were doing – they most likely got the brunt of the attack. Were they all staying on top of it? 

No one had given the signal, so Arthur forced his mind back to himself and his own tasks. There were a few arduous situations, but they got away with scrapes and bruises. When Javier sneaked up on him from behind though and whispered his name, Arthur nearly jumped him. 

“What is it?” Arthur asked him gruffly, his heart still nearly jumping out of his chest.

“Sadie came to get me. She says they think the worst of it is over. If we go now and go fast, we can still make it to Saint Denis in time. – Well, what do you say?” he added impatiently when Arthur just stared at him dumbfounded. 

“I have to talk to Charles.”

“Of course you do.” Javier rolled his eyes, muttering something in Spanish under his breath. “Go on, then. I’ll go talk to Eagle Flies.”

Arthur nodded and hurried further down the tree line, towards the south edge of the reservation where Charles’ position was. Sadie was with him already – and they both looked like they’d expected Arthur to come. Before he could say anything, Charles motioned him to follow and somebody else took his position while the three of them went further inwards where they’d be able to talk without giving anyone’s hiding places away. 

“I’ll go get the horses ready,” Sadie said. She pulled Charles in a quick hug to say goodbye.

“Charles, I–”

“I know,” Charles interrupted him. His voice was void of any emotions, but his eyes said more than enough. “You have to go.”

“I’m sorry.”

Charles inhaled deeply, clenching his hands to fists for a moment before he opened them again. “Don’t do anything unnecessary,” he said then, grabbing Arthur’s shoulders. “I understand you have to go for Dutch but do not follow him further than you have to.”

Arthur nodded, not able to get out a single word. His eyes filled with tears faster than he could blink them away and a few escaped, running down his cheeks.

Charles kissed him deeply, desperately. “Good.” He turned his head when he saw Javier joining Sadie by their horses. “Go. They’re waiting for you.”

Arthur pulled him in for another kiss. He hadn’t gotten further than a few steps when Charles called out his name and came jogging up to him.

“Hold on.” He took Arthur’s hand and closed it around the handle of his tomahawk. “This is my favourite one. So I’m gonna _need you_ to get this back to me, you hear me?” His voice was shaking, he barely got the last few words out. “ _You_ will give this back to me. Not anyone else. Promise me.”

Arthur nodded, still fighting a losing battle against his tears. “I promise,” he croaked. “Charles, I–” The words got stuck in his throat. He tried to force them out but couldn’t. 

“You have to go,” Charles whispered, roughly wiping tears from his face and trying to give Arthur an encouraging look. “Go.”

Arthur nodded, his hand still closed around the handle of the tomahawk. He climbed on the back of his horse, turning one more time to look at Charles, and as he followed Sadie and Javier into the dark forest in front of them, wondered if he’d just missed his last chance to tell him he loved him.


	11. Chapter 11

“Arthur?”

Arthur turned his head; or rather he tried to. It rolled weakly across his shoulder in the voice’s direction. Everything started spinning around him. 

“Charles?” He wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken aloud. He felt dizzy. Like he was floating somewhere above his body. His lids were too heavy for him to open.

“Open your mouth. Drink.”

The rim of a flask touched his lips, and he automatically opened his mouth. The water tasted stale, and it was warm, but it felt good in his parched mouth. 

“Can you open your eyes? Look at me.”

The voice was wrong. His words didn’t sound like they usually did. Arthur tried to find the muscles that controlled his eyelids, tried to find the strength to open them, but he only managed the tiniest sliver. Everything was blurry. The light hurt his eyes. The face before him was tan, but too light to be Charles. 

“You lost a lot of blood.” Javier. It was Javier. Arthur tried to force his eyes open further, but the ground beneath him tilted and he nearly keeled over. Javier put a hand against his shoulder and held him upright. 

“Where’s Charles?”

“He’s not here, Arthur.” Javier placed a wet cloth against his forehead. The ground tilted again, the opposite direction this time, and Arthur felt like throwing up. 

“Where is he?”

“I’m assuming still at the reservation.” Javier put the flask against Arthur’s lips again. 

“I need to see him.” Arthur tried to stand up, but even if it hadn’t been for Javier pushing him back against what he was leaning, he wouldn’t have had the strength to stand up. 

“Arthur. Look at me. You can’t see him. He’s not here.”

“I need him.” Arthur’s stomach twisted from the constant movement. He felt sick, but he didn’t have the strength to throw up. “Please. I need to see him. I need to—I need to tell him–” The ringing in his ears grew louder, it drowned out his own voice. Javier said something to him, but he couldn’t hear it. He tried to open his eyes again, but couldn’t. His entire body went slack.

  


* * *

  


The ground was still swaying. He was being rocked side to side as if he was lying in a cradle. But it wasn’t comforting. It made him nauseous. 

“I think he’s coming to,” someone said next to him. Bill?

“Arthur? Son, can you hear me?” Dutch’s voice was close, right by his side. 

Arthur forced his eyes to open, the bright daylight nearly blinding him. 

“He’s got more colour than he had before,” Javier said. 

Arthur frowned. He still didn’t know what was happening.

“Charles,” he forced out. “Where’s Charles?”

“Arthur, listen to me.” Javier slapped his face lightly. “You need to get it together. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Arthur groaned, trying to find his balance, trying to even get a feeling for his body again. “I need to see him.” He somehow managed to get onto all fours, but everything was swaying side to side; he could barely stay in that position, let alone made it upright. 

“This is just great. We got ourselves a lunatic. We should just throw him overboard and save ourselves the trouble.”

“Shut up, Micah. Or I’ll throw _you_ overboard. — No, no. Sit down, Arthur.” Javier grabbed his shoulder when he tried to get up again, pushing him back down. “Just go back to sleep. You need to rest.”

  


* * *

  


The swaying got worse. It was unbearable. Someone was screaming. More than one person. Arthur’s head threatened to explode. Silence. He just wanted silence. And Charles. Where was Charles?

  


* * *

  


He was dying. 

Was he already dead?

If he was, then why was he hurting so much?

Was this hell?

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. 

Was he flying? 

No, floating. 

Water. He was underwater. 

How had he gotten here? 

_I’m gonna need you to give this back to me._

Charles. He could hear his voice clear as day. The tomahawk. He needed to give him back his tomahawk. Where was it? Where was _he?_

All of a sudden, the memories came rushing back. Wapiti. The attack. He’d left… He’d left for Dutch. For the bank. 

The law. They’d been there. They’d known; they must have. A set up. They’d barely escaped. But where was he? Arthur remembered a sharp pain, his stomach feeling like it was on fire, the taste of his own blood in his mouth, and then… nothing. The same nothingness that was swallowing him up now.

His chest hurt. He needed to breathe. He opened his mouth but instead of air, saltwater invaded his lungs. 

Nothing.

  


* * *

  


He was burning. Inside and out. Everything hurt. This must be it. This must be hell.

Did hell have seagulls? Probably. His personal hell would. 

Their screams felt like hot needles piercing his skull.

_You will give this back to me. Not anyone else. Promise me._

_I promise._

He’d promised. He couldn’t be dead. He had to get back to Charles. 

The ground beneath him was blinding. Almost white. Still, Arthur forced his eyes to focus. His entire body hurt. But he could feel it. He could feel his body. 

Slowly, inch by inch, Arthur forced himself to move. His arms, his legs, pushing himself up on all four. He was exhausted. His tongue felt dry and shrunken. It hurt to swallow.

He pushed up one foot. 

The other one. 

He stumbled a couple of steps, but held himself upright. 

The sun was burning down on him, more merciless than hellfire could have. 

He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to keep moving. 

If he stopped moving, he would die. 

  


* * *

  


“Are you sure he’s still alive?” Bill’s voice reached Arthur’s ears, just barely. It sounded like his ears were stuffed with cotton. 

“Well, he’s breathing, isn’t he?” Javier replied. 

Arthur heard the telltale sound of skin against skin before he felt the pain in his cheek. Javier must’ve slapped him.

“Come on, Arthur,” he muttered. “You need to wake up.”

“What are we supposed to do with more dead weight? I say we leave him here. Don’t look like he’ll make it through the night, anyway.” That was Micah.

“Say something like that again and _you_ won’t make it through the night.” Javier’s voice faded again, the void threatening to tear away what little consciousness Arthur had gathered and swallowing him up again. He panicked — wanted to scream and thrash, but barely managed a groan. 

Javier said his name again, his voice sounding clearer than before. He muttered something in Spanish — it sounded like a prayer. Arthur focused on it, trying to keep the sound from fading again and letting it lead him back into reality. His eyes fluttered open and Javier sighed, relieved. 

“Quick, give me some water!” He extended a hand towards Bill, waving him over. Bill handed him a flask and Javier opened it and held it against Arthur’s lips. Arthur downed the water, almost choking on it when he ran out of breath. 

Javier helped him sit up, but despite the assistance, Arthur had to wait for everything to stop spinning before he could take in his surroundings. — Or at least as much of them as he could make out in the darkness beyond the reach of the fire’s light. 

The camp was encased on three sides by the remnants of a collapsed house. The cot Arthur lay on was standing against a wall, Dutch was lying on a mat by the wall opposite of him. A fire was burning and there were a few crates standing around. Micah was sitting on one of them, poking around in the embers with a stick.

“How are you feeling?” Javier asked him. 

“I…” Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know. Where the hell are we?”

“An island called Guarma. Old sugar plantation island, near Cuba.”

Arthur stared incredulously at Javier. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Javier asked him.

Arthur wasn’t sure about that either. “I remember us leaving Wapiti. After that… nothing for a while. Then I was drowning. I think I remember being at the beach. And now I’m here.”

Javier nodded. “Well, you got the key parts right.” He sighed deeply, staring off into the distance for a few moments before he turned his attention back towards Arthur. “The law in Saint Denis must’ve been expecting us. There were…” He shook his head. “There were a lot of them. We barely made it out.” His expression darkened. “You were shot. We couldn’t find another way out of the city, so we sneaked onto a ship. And then there was a big storm, and the ship went down.”

Arthur stared into the flames, pondering Javier’s words and digging at the fuzzy edges of the few memories he had, but nothing new came up.

“What happened to him?” Arthur asked, nodding towards Dutch. His shirt was covered in blood and even though he was sleeping, his face was tense. Arthur wondered if he was having a nightmare. 

“We, uh, we ran into some trouble earlier. We were at the beach – not long after you found us, actually – when this man found us. His name’s Hercule. He was trying to get us, well, here, when we were attacked.”

“He was shot?”

“Stabbed. – In the shoulder. He’ll be fine, it’s just been…” Javier sighed. “A long day,” he said then. 

“We all would’ve gotten off a lot better if we hadn’t had to lug _you_ around,” Micah muttered, glaring at Arthur.

“And we all wouldn’t even _be_ here if we’d just let that goddamn bank alone.” 

Even though Micah had a point – it must’ve slowed them down considerably to get him to safety when he was unconscious – Arthur wished he could jump up and punch Micah in the face, but he doubted he had the strength for it. 

“Nobody forced you to come! I’ve been telling Dutch for _months_ you’re nothing but dead weight. And I was _right_.”

“You think you woulda made it out of the city alive if we hadn’t come back to help?” Javier asked angrily. “That _plan_ ,” he spat out the word as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth, “was insane.”

“Would’ve rather died there than become a coward and a traitor like the rest of you.” Micah’s lip curled in disgust. “Just ’cause Arthur’s _girlfriend_ and Hosea pissed their pants at the first signs of trouble.”

“The first signs of trouble?!” Arthur gritted his teeth when his body tensed and a bolt of pain shot through him. “Things have been going downhill for _months_. And all we did was get ourselves into more trouble trying to get money for _Tahiti_.”

“So what’s your grand plan then? For all your whining and moaning I didn’t hear you coming up with any alternatives.” Micah stood up, shaking his head and walked off, disappearing into the darkness behind the fire’s reach. Arthur didn’t know where he was going, but he would be lying if he said he cared much.

“We just have to get off this island,” Javier said, after the silence between them had stretched uncomfortably for a few minutes. “Once we’re back, we’ll figure it out.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Arthur sighed and leaned back; the argument had worn him out more than he liked. 

“Hercule. The man I mentioned before. He can help us. He brought us to this camp here. We must do something for him first, though.”

“Of course.” Arthur closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead even though his burnt skin hurt at the touch. “How do we know he’ll really help us?”

“He went through a lot of trouble getting us here. – Getting _all_ of us here,” he added, glancing at Arthur. 

“Right. – Look, not that I’m not grateful and all, but… Micah wasn’t wrong about that part, you know? Would’ve probably been easier to get away if you’d just left me there.”

“You think I’m gonna let you leave me on my own with the three of them?” Javier laughed. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Arthur rolled his eyes with a grin, but then he frowned. “Where’s Bill, anyway?”

“He went with Hercule. Getting us some provisions and some more information about what we have to do.”

Arthur nodded, not knowing what to reply. His head was swimming. He clenched his hand around his arm, pressing his fingernails into his burnt skin, using the pain to ground himself. He couldn’t afford to start spiraling now. 

“I’m alright with staying awake and keeping watch for a while,” he said when he saw Javier yawning. “You can get some sleep.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

Javier nodded gratefully and settled into a more comfortable position to sleep. Even though Arthur hadn’t lied – he didn’t want to sleep, didn’t think he’d be able to anyway – the strange sounds coming from the jungle beyond them were unsettling him soon. 

He wanted to get up, walk around for a bit, but even just sitting up made the wound in his stomach hurt again. 

Micah returned soon after; he lay down by the fire to sleep without as much as looking at Arthur. 

When the fire threatened to burn down to embers, Arthur stood up to add some wood from the pile next to it. He was weak, his entire body ached, or worse, in the case of the bullet wound in his stomach that was pulsating sharply along with his heartbeat. 

The night passed without anything happening – and without Arthur getting any sleep. The next morning Bill arrived at camp, a dark-skinned man following closely behind him. He introduced himself to Arthur as Hercule and looked at the wound in his stomach before he turned his attention to Dutch. 

He had slept through the entire night and although he was awake he hadn’t said a word yet, which was a lot more worrying than his injury. 

Arthur took the food and the flask of water Bill had given him and sat down next to Dutch, offering it to him. Dutch took the food and started eating, his movements stiff. 

“You alright?” Arthur asked him. It was a stupid question, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Dutch’s voice was barely audible. “Oh, I’m so sorry, son.” He turned his head to look at Arthur, and although the genuineness of his words was clearly visible on his face, Arthur felt strangely detached. None of this felt real. Not what had happened in Saint Denis, not the shipwreck, and certainly not being here. 

He turned his head to escape Dutch’s pleading eyes and instead met Micah’s hateful ones. He was sitting on the other side of the fire, watching Dutch and Arthur closely.

“Arthur,” Javier called out to him and nodded his head, beckoning him over. 

It took an embarrassing amount of effort to get up from the ground, and Arthur held his breath at the pain that shot through his stomach as he made his way over to Javier and Hercule. 

“Bill and I will go with Hercule to find the workers. Micah will stay here with you and Dutch in case anything happens.”

Arthur scowled. “You can’t take Micah with you?”

“I do not want him with us,” Hercule said firmly.

“Can’t blame you for that,” Arthur sighed. “Is there anything I can do? I know I’m not much use right now, but…”

Javier shook his head. “You just need to heal.”

“You will need your strength getting away from here,” Hercule said. “Even if you get away from the island without any trouble – which, I’m afraid, is no guarantee – the journey back won’t be calm. There are still storms happening.”

“That’s just great. With our luck, we’ll end up shipwrecked again.”

  


With the others gone and Dutch asleep again, the atmosphere between Micah and Arthur tensed further. Micah was restless, feeling insulted over having to stay here and ‘babysit’. He was pacing about restlessly, muttering something about savages as his eyes scanned the surrounding jungle. 

“Why don’t you go for a walk? Maybe we’ll get lucky and you fall off a cliff,” Arthur snapped when it finally got to him. 

Micah stopped pacing and glared at him. “We shoulda let you rot on that beach.”

“Yeah? Well, I shoulda let you get hanged in Strawberry. Guess we both made some mistakes.”

“Yeah, you wanted to let me hang. But you didn’t, did you?” A smug smile appeared on Micah’s face. “You came and got me out anyway because Dutch asked you to. Because you’d do anything for him. And look where it got you. After everything you did for him – you’re still the disappointment. Because you’re _weak_. You hate me because I made Dutch realise how much more he could achieve if he’d stop listening to you. If he’d stop letting you and Hosea weigh him down.”

The sick pleasure he got out of saying this was written across Micah’s face. Arthur looked at him silently while he spoke. The words didn’t make him angry – didn’t make him feel anything, in fact. No, he was too far away for that. Nothing could reach him here.

It was obvious Micah had expected to get a reaction out of Arthur and not getting that took some satisfaction out of it. He fell silent and ignored Arthur instead. 

  


As the day progressed and it got hotter, the air became more unbearable than it had been in Lemoyne. Arthur’s clothes were soaked with sweat and clinging to him like a second skin. Momentarily, his mind skipped back to the little pond he had swum in with Charles, wishing he could dive into the cool, refreshing water right now, but he pushed the memory away quickly. This wasn’t the right time to reminisce. 

He wondered how the others were progressing. He hoped everything was going well. 

Dutch woke up a few hours later. He looked better than before. He took the water Arthur offered him and got up to stretch his legs. 

“Good to see you’re awake again,” he said, sitting down on the cot next to Arthur. 

“You too.”

From the edge of his field of vision, Arthur could see that Dutch was looking at him, but he didn’t turn his head to meet his eyes. He didn’t want to talk to him right now.

  


* * *

  


The hours that passed seemed to stretch excruciatingly and yet, had anyone asked Arthur what he’d done, he wouldn’t have been able to remember. 

There was the unmistakable sound of someone nearing their camp; Arthur’s hand reached for his holster automatically – but of course, there wasn’t one. Micah had heard it too; he grabbed one of the rifles that, Arthur presumed, Hercule had left them, and tossed the other one to Arthur. Both of them eyed the edge of the surrounding jungle closely, ready to start shooting in case of an attack. 

It turned out to be just Bill, though. Arthur and Micah lowered their weapons. 

“Where’d you leave the rest?” Micah asked him. 

“They went with Hercule. He sent me here to get you. There’s this old fortress that Hercule and his men stay in whenever they’re on the island. That’s where we’re going.” Bill turned towards Arthur and looked him up and down. “It’s a long walk. You think you can make it?”

Arthur nodded. “I’m fine.”

Bill looked at Dutch, who was asleep yet again. “What about him?”

“Well, he’ll have to, won’t he?” Micah woke Dutch rougher than necessary and barked at him to start packing up.

Since they barely had anything to begin with, the camp was packed up quickly and they were on their way. The first part, walking through the forest, didn’t go too badly. They tried to stay in the shade for as long as possible, but eventually they had to walk through the blazing sun to get across the beach to the paved way leading up to the fortress. 

Dutch was hanging on Arthur’s and Bill’s arms, being dragged along more than he was walking himself. 

“You sure you don’t want Micah to take over for a bit?” Bill asked, shooting Arthur a worried glance. “It looks like it’ll be quite steep getting up the hill to the fortress. Can’t afford you ending up like this too.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur replied flatly. He didn’t feel exhausted or faint. 

He didn’t feel anything.

  


* * *

  


Two men were waiting for them at the top of the stairs, having seen them coming. They gave them water and took Dutch from Arthur and Bill, gesturing for them to follow them. 

Compared to the brutal heat outside, the inside of the fortress felt cold. The men led them to a large room, where Hercule and Javier were waiting for them. Javier was limping and his leg was bandaged, but he greeted them enthusiastically. 

Arthur stood silently next to the entrance of the room, watching the other people in the room move around, seeing their lips move, but the words didn’t reach him. 

He nearly jumped when somebody suddenly touched him, not having noticed the man walking up to him. 

“Come. Sit.” He tugged gently on Arthur’s arm, gesturing towards a chair. 

Arthur followed the man and sat down on the chair, taking the water he offered him. He blinked a few times, trying to listen to what people were saying, but he could barely make out the words. 

“Arthur.” Hercule crouched down in front of Arthur, drawing his attention on him. “You need to drink water. And eat.” He pushed a plate of food closer to him that Arthur couldn’t remember anyone setting down in front of him.

Arthur blinked a few times until the words set in, and he reached for the food. He couldn’t taste anything but kept eating, washing it down with water and a herbal tea Hercule brought him a few minutes later. 

“You don’t look so good.”

Arthur looked up to see Javier limping closer, slumping down on a chair with a tired sigh. 

“What happened to your leg?” Arthur asked him. 

“Just a graze shot.” Javier waved off. “But seriously. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Javier looked like he wanted to say something else, but then Bill drew their attention to himself.

“Now, we did what you asked,” he said to Hercule.

“It’s like I said. Fussar knows who you are and knows the price on your head. It’s a big problem.”

Bill sighed. “I see.”

“But,” Hercule continued, “if we can silence him, then I can help you escape before anyone has time to get here from America. That way, we all get what we want.”

“We want to get the boat you promised us,” Bill responded sharply. 

“And you will. But you have found yourself in the middle of a war, my friend. Fussar has called in the navy from Cuba. There’s no way a boat could leave right now.”

Before anyone could reply to what Hercule had just said, somebody came running into the room, calling out to him in French. Hercule told them to follow along and they ran up the stairs onto the large platform outside. A colossal explosion shook the ground beneath them. 

“So now we have a real problem,” Hercule stated the obvious. “This must be the boat he called in from Cuba.”

“That’s a goddamn warship,” Bill said as they were all standing at the ledge, staring at the giant ship closing in on the island.

“What now?” Arthur asked. 

“We fight… or we run.”

  


* * *

  


“That was quite some shooting, boys!” Bill’s triumphant voice sounded distorted in Arthur’s ears. He could barely make out the words. 

He looked down at his hands and the voices of people around him faded, mixing in with the static in his brain. He was holding a rifle. Blood covered his hands. He didn’t know if it was his own. 

Was it really over? Arthur could barely remember it happening. Nothing but short flashes of memories that didn’t feel like his own.

“Arthur?”

Arthur jerked his head more abruptly than he’d intended. Suddenly, it was just him and Hercule. “Where’d they go?” he asked. 

Hercule’s lips tightened, concerned, and he furrowed his brows. Arthur looked into his dark eyes, the colour so much like Charles’ and yet they were entirely different. 

“The boat I found for you should be arriving at the docks soon.” Hercule spoke slowly, watching Arthur closely as if he wasn’t sure he’d understand him. “They went to meet with the captain to make sure everything is ready so you can leave.”

He waited for Arthur to react, but the words were still in the process of seeping into Arthur’s brain. 

A boat. 

For them to get away from here. 

Go back to America. 

Arthur followed Hercule along the ascend to the fortress and back inside. Javier and Dutch had stayed inside, neither of them in any condition to fight. They looked relieved when Arthur and Hercule entered, but Javier’s expression darkened with concern when he looked at Arthur. 

Arthur sat down on a chair next to Javier, his mind repeating Hercule’s words on a loop.

“He… he found us a boat?” he asked Javier. “We’re going to leave?”

Javier nodded. He was eyeing Arthur carefully, as if he was afraid he was going to lose it at any moment. – Not that Arthur could blame him. He felt half crazed himself, and if that was any sign of what he looked like right now, then he could understand Javier’s concerns. 

“Maybe you should sit down.” Javier pulled out a chair next to him, patting on it. “You look like you might pass out.”

Arthur sat down even though he didn’t really care one way or another. He didn’t know if he was feeling faint. It was hard to tell when everything had felt far away for days. Days? Was that right? He wasn’t sure.

They rested for a while until Hercule came to get them, saying they’d go down to the beach and wait for the others by the boat. Dutch looked better; he was walking on his own, having regained some strength. He was still very quiet, though. Only spoke when spoken to, and the rest of the time seemed lost somewhere in his own thoughts. 

  


“Boys, we got a real problem.” Micah appeared from the fog that had sneaked across the beach as the sun had started to set. “Nice Mr. Fussar don’t want us going nowhere. He knows just who we are. If he can keep us here for a few more days… well.”

“And what about the captain of the ship here?” Javier asked him. 

“They got him trussed up like a hog, guards all over the place. Got us surrounded with gun positions so when we try to sail out, he’s gonna go blow holes in us.”

“It never fucking ends, does it?” Arthur didn’t realise he had spoken out loud until everyone turned to look at him. He let out a strained exhale and clenched his hands to fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. The muscles in his shoulders constricted painfully, and he fought the urge to grab Micah and throw him to the ground. Instead, he grabbed one of the rifles that were leaning against the side of the boat. 

“What are you waiting for?” he lashed out when nobody else moved. “Let’s get him then.”

“Arthur, are you sure that you’re up to–” Javier fell silent when Arthur whipped around and glared at him. 

“Hercule?” Arthur asked.

“I’ll fight Alberto Fussar every day I can.” He clearly meant his words, but he eyed Arthur a little doubtfully.

Arthur looked at Bill, raising his eyebrows impatiently. 

“Maybe we should have at least somewhat of a plan before we run in there.”

Micah stepped forwards and opened his bag, pulling out a couple of sticks of dynamite. 

Arthur nodded curtly before he picked up a second rifle and shoved it into Dutch’s hands. “Dutch, Javier, I trust you two can take care of yourselves for a little while. Hercule, you lead the way.”

  


* * *

  


Hercule led them to Fussar’s hideout. They took out any guards they came across, destroying the canons with the dynamite Micah had brought. 

Arthur felt fuelled by the gunshots and explosions around him, every man that dropped dead bringing him a step closer to home. 

“The captain’s being held in the worker’s compound,” Bill yelled. “This way!”

Bill ran ahead of the group, showing them the way; Arthur kept at the back of the group, defending them against guards that tried to attack from behind. 

“In that blue building, straight ahead!” Bill pointed at it as soon as it came into view. 

“Let’s deal with these bastards first!”

Arthur took cover behind a large rock, Micah crouched down behind another one ahead of him, and they covered Hercule and Bill, who pushed ahead until they reached the building Bill had pointed out.

“You get the captain out of that cabin,” Arthur shouted over the gunfire. “We’ll cover things out here.”

More guards came running closer right as he said that, and even though he tried to keep an eye on the blue building, he saw the blurred figure of a man jumping out of a window and running away too late. 

Bill burst through the door and Hercule followed behind him, his arm around who Arthur presumed was to be their captain. 

“What happened to Fussar?” Bill called out. “He escape?”

“Get the captain to the ship,” Arthur yelled back. “I got Fussar.”

“Arthur, you–”

“ _Go!_ ”

Bill looked at him hesitantly for a moment, but then turned around. Hercule placed the captain’s arm around Bill’s shoulder and said something to him, before he came running towards Arthur, while Bill and the captain started their way down the path. 

“Hey,” Hercule called out to him. “Fussar’s up there.”

“In the tower?” Arthur asked, following the direction Hercule pointed to. 

“Yes, that’s him.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “This goddamn idiot,” he muttered under his breath. “Go make sure the others get to the beach safely,” he said then to Hercule. “I got this.”

“I don’t think–”

Arthur didn’t wait for him to finish, he lunged out from his cover and ran for the next one, making his way closer to the tower. The island shook when Fussar fired the cannon from the tower.

“Don’t think you’ll be getting all the glory for yourself, cowpoke!” Micah came to a slithering halt, pressing his back against the wall a few feet away from Arthur and looking around the corner up at the tower. 

Arthur didn’t reply; all he was focused on was taking out Fussar. He aimed his rifle, but couldn’t get a clear shot at him. Cursing, he sprinted towards a cover closer by the tower. 

“There’s another cannon up ahead on your left,” Micah called out. “Can you get to that?”

When he spotted the cannon Micah was talking about, Arthur nodded curtly, although he didn’t know if Micah could see it and ducked in and out of covers until he reached it. Ruins were crumbling to either side of him as Fussar kept firing from the tower. 

Arthur looked at the cannon and hazy memories returned from the earlier attack at Cinco Torres. He could hear gunshots behind him and Micah’s curses as he took out more guards. 

“Hurry!”

Praying that his memories had been accurate and that he’d loaded it right, Arthur aimed the cannon at the tower and fired. The frail structure crumbled under the impact, burying everything beneath it. 

Arthur stared at it, expecting to feel satisfaction or even relief, but the emptiness inside of him prevailed. He turned to head back towards the path where Micah was impatiently waiting for him. He was breathing heavily, blood soaking most of his clothes from multiple injuries and all but pouring from a gash in his head.

“You sure took your sweet time with that, cowpoke,” he growled. 

Arthur walked past him without a response. As they made their way down the rocky path, Arthur could hear Micah struggle and groan from the pain of his injuries. 

“Morgan.” Micah’s voice nearly gave out in the middle of the word. Arthur stopped and turned around to look at him. He had stopped walking and was leaning against a tree at the side of the road. “If you were ever planning on making good on that promise of yours, now would be a good time.” He laughed bitterly. “Or you might never get the chance to.”

“What are you talking about? We’re almost there.”

When Micah didn’t budge, Arthur walked back up the hill until he stood in front of him. Blood was still seeping from his head wound, covering the side of his face and soaking his shirt where it dripped down to his shoulder. His hand was trembling severely when he reached up to wipe some of it away from his eye.

“I’m not gonna make it,” he said. His tone of voice was challenging, as if he was almost hoping for Arthur to gloat. He pulled a knife from his belt and flipped it around, pointing the handle at Arthur.

“You know, mercy killing isn’t really what I had in mind when I made that promise.” Arthur looked at the knife and then back at Micah’s face, not making a move to grab it. 

Micah gritted his teeth, and he laughed again. “Do you really want to miss out on the last chance you’ll get to stab me? We both know you’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” He held his hand out further, urging Arthur to take the knife. “Dammit, Morgan. Don’t make me beg you.”

Finally, Arthur relented and took the knife from him. “This might not be how I pictured it,” he said, gripping the handle firmly, “but don’t think I won’t still enjoy it.”

But despite his words, Arthur didn’t feel any satisfaction as he watched the life fade from Micah’s eyes. He stepped back, looking at the slumped body at the side of the road for a few moments before he turned and continued walking. 

  


* * *

  


“It’s Arthur!” Bill called out as soon as Arthur stepped through the edge of the forest and appeared in their field of vision. He set down the rifle he was holding and stood up. 

Dutch had been on the boat, leaning against the railing and looking towards the jungle, but stepped off it when he heard Bill call out. He looked at Arthur and then his eyes darted past him towards the edge of the forest, waiting for Micah to follow. 

Hercule and the Captain were standing a little further away, but they had stopped their conversation, watching Arthur come closer. 

Bill was the one to break the tense silence that had settled over the group.

“Where’s Micah?” he asked. 

“Dead.” Arthur looked at Dutch as he answered, wanting to see his reaction. 

Dutch’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but then he closed it again without saying anything. He looked shocked, other than that it was hard to read any emotion in his face. Bill, on the other hand, was visibly furious, but when Arthur met his eyes, he just grunted and turned away, stepping onto the boat. 

“Well, we, uh, we have quite a journey ahead of us,” the Captain said. It was obvious how uncomfortable the tension made him. “Better we get going.” He bade his goodbyes to Hercule before he hurried onto the boat, ducking his head as he walked past Arthur as if he was worried Arthur might tear it off. 

Arthur stepped up to Hercule and shook his hand. “Thank you,” he said, hoping it would come across as sincere as he meant it. “We would’ve died here without you.”

“You helped us too,” Hercule just said. 

  


* * *

  


Arthur watched the island fade into the fog, still not ready to believe they were actually getting away. His hands clenched around the railing and his eyes wouldn’t leave the shoreline until he could no longer see it. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long to post! Me being me I had to squeeze in some last minute changes (and there may or may not (may) have been some procrastination because of the super bowl) but here it finally is!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and a big thank you to everyone who's been leaving kudos and comments, they really mean the world to me!

For the second time in way too short a succession, Arthur arrived at a port half-delirious and miserably sick. This time, at least, he was conscious. And – to be fair – not doing the worst out of the group. 

Shortly after they had – metaphorically – set sail, Dutch had fallen ill. He’d been miserable, burning up from a fever, sweating furiously while shivering at the same time. 

When Arthur had started to throw up, they’d been worried it would be the same illness, but he was just horribly seasick. 

They arrived at Van Horn; the relief over being back on familiar grounds dulled by the fact that none of them were doing well and that they didn’t know if they had any safe place to go. 

Would the law be on the lookout for them here? Would they arrive at the shore and be attacked immediately? And where was the rest of the gang? Were they still at the reservation? Or had they been forced to flee and were hiding out somewhere else?

Arthur’s head was spinning, not only from all the questions but also from the physical toll just walking off the ship took on him. He still felt like he was on the boat, everything around him rocking and swaying, and he was close to throwing up again – even though there was nothing left in his stomach. Not that that had made any difference while they’d been underway. Between all his retching, he’d barely been able to keep water down. 

The skin on his face was still raw and irritated from the sunburn, around his mouth especially so, additionally irritated from all the throwing up.

  


Bill had one of Dutch’s arms slung around his shoulders to support him while Arthur and Javier helped each other stay upright. They tried to stay away from people as much as they could while they walked to the outskirts of the town so they could find a quiet place to sit down and try to figure out where to go from here. 

“I think our best bet is the reservation,” Javier said when they had found a spot and caught their breath again. “We should see if the others are still there.”

“And how do you suggest we get there?” Bill asked roughly. “We don’t have any horses. And in the condition you three are in, it’ll take us months.”

“I know somebody who lives near here.” Javier looked irritated at Bill’s aggressive tone of voice. “Maybe she has a wagon we can borrow. Or knows someone who does.”

“And if she doesn’t? Or they’re not there anymore?”

Javier shrugged helplessly. 

Arthur buried his face in his hands, putting pressure against his forehead to stop the incessant pounding for just a moment. 

“Where does she live?” he asked then and looked up again. It was the best plan they had, and it wouldn’t do them any good to dwell on all the ways it could fall apart.

“Not too far. About–” He stopped himself, looking around the four of them. “Well. Probably about an hour in the shape we’re in.”

Arthur nodded and stood up. “Let’s go, then.”

“Maybe we should rest for a little,” Javier said hesitantly. 

“We don’t know if we’re safe. Might be the law’s still looking for us.” Despite his pain and exhaustion, he felt restless. He had to keep moving, at least _feel_ like he was getting anywhere. 

Javier gritted his teeth, but eventually nodded with a sigh. “You’re right.” 

Arthur offered him a hand to help him up on his feet while Bill woke up Dutch – or tried to, at least. Whatever illness Dutch had seemed to come in waves. And right now it was pretty bad. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone lift his feet, so Bill was soon sweating, panting with the exertion of dragging him along. 

“Let’s switch,” Arthur said to him when they stopped for a minute to catch their breath. “I can take him for a while.”

Bill cocked an eyebrow doubtfully but wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to get a break, and so Arthur wrapped Dutch’s arm around his shoulders while Bill helped Javier limp along. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Arthur?” Javier asked no more than five minutes later. “You don’t– you don’t look so good.”

“I wouldn’t exactly describe you as ravishing, either.”

Javier rolled his eyes but fell silent again. 

They trudged along, making slow progress, but progress nonetheless. Arthur stared down at his feet, only taking in one step at a time. He didn’t have to put in any effort to keep his thoughts from wandering. It took everything he had to keep moving; his thoughts were reduced to a stupor. 

“Wait here for a moment,” Javier said suddenly. 

Arthur looked up, swaying on the spot when everything around him started tipping over. Bill grabbed his arm roughly to stabilise him. 

“Are you gonna throw up again?” Bill asked him, cautiously leaning back. “You’re still looking a little green.”

Arthur didn’t answer. He focused on breathing and staying upright instead. 

Javier had limped ahead to a little house and upon his knocking, someone opened the door. They were talking, but not loud enough for Arthur to make out the words. 

“Alright, you can come here, fellers,” Javier called out to them. 

Arthur stumbled into the small house, holding onto Dutch but having shaken off Bill’s rough hands. He felt like he was already covered in bruises from head to toe, and he didn’t feel like getting more of them. 

“Get them over there,” the girl said. “Oh, they look bad. What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Javier just said. The girl ushered them all inside, telling them to sit down. She poured tea for all of them and upon her urging him on, Arthur carefully sipped on it, despite his worry that it would all come back up soon. 

  


* * *

  


If the woman, María, was blindsided by the four of them showing up on her doorstep and the shape they were all in, she didn’t show it. She knew someone nearby who she could ask about borrowing their wagon and did just that. 

She stood at the side of the road as she watched them leave, arms crossed in front of her chest and a worried expression darkening her face. 

  


Arthur tried to estimate how long it would take them to get to the reservation, but the bumpy ride made him feel as if somebody was whisking his brain and he could barely catch a clear thought. Instead, he tried to keep Dutch secure; the way his limp body was being shaken around couldn’t possibly be good for him in his condition.

They stopped for a few hours when it got dark. María had packed them some food, but while Javier and Bill eagerly dug in, Arthur declined. He didn’t think he’d be able to get anything down. 

He stayed awake while the others rested. Javier had handed him the leftovers of the food, urging him to eat something, but had not argued further than that. 

While Bill and Javier were sound asleep quickly, Dutch was very restless. Arthur helped him drink a few sips of water here and there, and he tore off a piece of his shirt – that was barely more than shreds hanging off him by now anyway – and soaked it to wipe down his sweaty face. 

It kept him busy enough to keep him from getting too agitated, but he couldn’t fully shove aside the ache in his chest, the pull he felt to keep going. 

Javier and Bill were awake with the first sunrays. They lifted Dutch back onto the wagon and continued their journey. 

Arthur watched the woods around them pass by, the scenery in front of him mixing with blurry memories of the jungle, memories that didn’t feel like his own. He closed his eyes, digging his fingers into the wound in his stomach to feel the pain shoot through him. He didn’t want to lose himself again. 

  


* * *

  


He could hear the rushing of Donner Falls long before he could see it. They followed the path north until it would branch off to the west and they’d be able to cross the river. 

Arthur felt like a bowstring pulled too taut and about to snap. He could tell the others were getting restless too – all but Dutch, who was either unconscious or asleep. 

When Javier stopped the wagon, two Indians had already been waiting for them – they must have seen them approach. Javier talked to them, but Arthur couldn’t focus on the words. His pulse was beating loudly in his ears and he felt lightheaded all of a sudden. 

The two men climbed onto the back and carried Dutch off the wagon; Bill came behind them and helped Arthur down. 

Arthur had barely enough time to take in his surroundings, when somebody cried out with excitement.

“Uncle Arthur!” Jack came running at him as fast as his little legs would take him. Behind him, Arthur could see more of the gang hurrying up the hill, having heard the news that they were back. Arthur’s legs gave in under him and he fell onto his knees in front of Jack, pulling the boy in a tight hug. 

“Uncle Arthur, you’re squishing me!” Jack protested, wiggling in his arms until Arthur loosened his embrace. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack.” Arthur leaned back a little to look at him. “I just missed you an awful lot, is all.” His voice nearly gave up and tears spilled over his face before he could blink them away. Jack looked helplessly at him when Arthur broke down in tears. He reached out to pat his arm but looked hesitant to touch his burnt skin. 

“C’mere, Jack.”

Arthur looked up, surprised when John suddenly swept Jack off his feet and took a step back, but before he could ask, he saw the reason why. A couple other people had stepped aside to make way as well, and as Arthur looked past them, he saw Charles running full speed up the hill. When he saw Arthur, his entire body froze for a few seconds as he stared at him wide-eyed, before he crossed the remaining yards between them with big steps and sank to his knees in front of Arthur. 

Everything around Arthur seemed to slow down as he knelt on the muddy ground, looking at Charles unmoving, not sure if he could really believe what he was seeing. Charles’ eyes were wide, still. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly. He lifted a shaky hand, slowly bringing it closer to Arthur, as if he was afraid he might disappear into thin air if he moved too quickly.

Charles’ hand cupping the side of his face sent a bolt of lightning through Arthur’s entire body. He placed his hand on top of Charles’ and leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. Charles leaned in closer, until his forehead touched Arthur’s and he let out a shaky exhale, muttering something under his breath that Arthur couldn’t quite make out. 

It was as if all the exhaustion and the pain from everything he’d been through came crashing down on him the moment he allowed himself to relax into Charles’ touch. The wind was knocked out of him and Arthur struggled to breathe for a moment before a sob broke through the blockade in his chest. Charles pulled him closer, whispering his name under his breath as though it was a prayer. He held Arthur tightly, stroking his back and murmuring soothing words while his body was shaking with sobs and he could barely breathe in between. 

Charles loosened the embrace ever so slightly, just enough so his lips could find Arthur’s. Arthur’s hands desperately grabbed at Charles’ face, feeling his stubbly cheek against his palm and his fingers brushing across newly shaved sides of his head.

“You changed your hair,” Arthur hiccupped when they broke their kiss. 

Charles looked at him in bewilderment for a second, but then he started laughing, despite the tears that were streaking his face as well. The sound soothed and warmed Arthur’s entire body, and both of them laughed in between kisses and tender touches. 

  


* * *

  


When they eventually managed to get up from the ground, Arthur’s legs were so weak he could barely stand. Charles had one arm slung around Arthur’s waist to help him stay upright, but he waved John over to help. 

“We should get him to Kimimela’s tent,” he said to John, and then to Arthur, “She’ll have something for your sunburn. And…” His eyes dropped lower, looking at the bandage that was visible through the holes in Arthur’s shirt. 

Arthur nodded, not able to get out any words, and the three of them started walking. Even walking as slowly as they did, it didn’t take them more than a few minutes and yet by the time they entered a large tipi, Arthur was out of breath and dizzy, his legs threatening to give in. 

“Here, sit down.” Charles helped Arthur sit down on a stool and when everything stopped spinning, he could finally take in his surroundings. 

In the back of the tipi, Arthur saw Dutch lying on a mat. The Indian woman that was taking care of him turned around and smiled softly at him. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Arthur still couldn’t get out any words, but Charles thanked her. He crouched down next to Arthur, taking his hand and pressing a kiss against his knuckles. 

“So,” the woman said, gathering up a few things that were lying on the ground next to Dutch and turning around to direct her attention to Arthur and Dutch. “You must be Arthur.” 

She smiled at him; a kindhearted smile that reminded Arthur a lot of Tilly and he realised with a pang of guilt that he hadn’t properly greeted her yet. – Hadn’t properly greeted most of them, actually. 

“I’m Kimimela,” she introduced herself. “Are you sick like him?”

Arthur shook his head, his eyes wandering across the room to Dutch. Even from the distance, he could tell that it didn’t look good. His cheeks were sunken in and despite being asleep, his face was tense. 

“Is he going to die?”

Kimimela’s shoulders dropped a little, and she looked at Dutch for a few seconds before she turned back, her eyes resting on Charles for a moment before they moved on to Arthur. “I don’t know,” she answered frankly. “He’s very weak right now.”

Arthur was glad about her honesty, even though her words made a pit in his stomach open up that felt like it was going to swallow him up and make him disappear into nothingness. Charles rubbed the back of his hand, his expression dark. 

Before either of them could say anything though, the flap of the tipi swung open vigorously and Hosea marched in, his tense shoulders relaxing visibly when Arthur’s eyes met his. 

“Arthur,” he sighed, relieved, hurrying over and hugging him against his chest. “When I heard you came back, I– I almost couldn’t believe it.” He placed his hand against Arthur’s cheek, his smile wavering a little when he saw the state he was in. “You’re– oh, Arthur. What happened to you? Are you ill?”

“I’m– I’ll be fine.” Arthur swallowed, his throat feeling raw. “I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

Hosea’s eyes followed Arthur’s gaze, and he inhaled sharply, clenching his trembling hands to fists. “Yes, I– I heard.” His face tightened; he looked like he wanted to go over there but didn’t dare to. “What is– Is he–” He fell silent, his hands nervously tugging at the collar of his shirt. 

“Why don’t you sit with him for a bit?” Kimimela suggested, gently placing her hand on his back. “Talk to him. He might be able to hear you.”

Hesitating, Hosea looked at Arthur.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Arthur encouraged him. “I’ll be fine.”

Hosea nodded and straightened his shoulders as he turned, but he still looked a little hesitant while he walked across the tipi to Dutch. 

“Well, then,” Kimimela said. “Let’s take a look at you.”

She inspected the peeling skin on his face and his arms, but apart from the spots where Arthur had been picking at it, she said it didn’t look too bad. When Arthur lifted his shirt, she pulled a face at the sight of the grimy bandage and peeled it away, tossing it out right away. 

She didn’t say anything, but he could see the tension on her face as she looked at the wound before she turned away to gather some things. 

Charles was still crouching next to Arthur, and his face turned more serious too when he saw the wound. Arthur kept his eyes trained on Charles’ face; he didn’t want to know what his stomach looked like. 

Kimimela took care of the wound and applied a new bandage. When she finished, she handed Arthur a small tin. 

“This is for your skin,” she said. “It should help with the itching and the peeling – so no more picking at it. If you need more, you can tell me. Come again tomorrow and let me take another look at that bullet wound, okay?”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t exert yourself. A lot of rest is important now.”

Charles thanked Kimimela for her help as well and then helped Arthur slip back into his torn shirt and back onto his feet. 

“Hosea?” Charles asked.

“I’ll, um, I’ll be staying for a little while longer.” Hosea didn’t turn to look at them when he spoke, but his voice gave away that he was crying. “You two go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur frowned, worried. “If you’d like some company…”

“No, no. It’s fine. You should go get some rest.”

  


Arthur and Charles were sitting by the fire; Arthur halfway on Charles’ lap, a blanket wrapped around both of them. He’d finally eaten something and had it not been for Charles intervening, he’d have completely gone overboard; the hunger of the past days… or weeks… had hit him all at once. 

Charles hadn’t asked him any questions about what had happened. They didn’t talk about what the gang was going to do now that the four of them were back, either. Even though the subject was gnawing at Arthur, he soothed himself with the thought that if their situation was dire, somebody would’ve brought it up by now. 

“Your skin looks horrible,” Charles murmured, brushing his finger across Arthur's forearm. “Does it hurt?”

Arthur shrugged. “A little. But not as much anymore.”

Charles placed his hand under Arthur’s chin and lifted his head so he could kiss him. “It’s late,” he mumbled. “Aren’t you tired?”

Arthur smiled wearily. “Yeah, actually. I guess I, uh, I haven’t really been in touch with myself lately.”

Charles nodded, not saying anything despite the worried expression on his face. He pressed a kiss against Arthur’s temple before he stood up, pulling Arthur on his feet alongside him. “Let’s go get ready for sleep, yeah?”

Arthur nodded, but they had only walked a few steps when he suddenly realised something. 

“I don’t… I don’t have any of my things. Aren’t they still at Shady Belle?” 

Charles shook his head. “After Sadie told us what happened at the bank, we were able to get most of the stuff that was still there.”

Arthur froze on the spot, his stomach twisting. “Sadie,” he choked out. He hadn’t seen her. How had he not noticed that he hadn’t seen her around? Not enough that he’d been so self absorbed he’d barely even said hello to most of them, he hadn’t even noticed that not everyone was here? He tried to figure out who he’d seen, who he hadn’t, but his mind was spinning so much he kept losing track.

“Hey, hey. Arthur.” Charles touched his cheek, trying to get his attention. “Look at me. She’s okay. Sadie’s okay.”

Arthur looked blankly at him, barely able to make sense of his words. “Where– where is she?”

“It’s a… well, it’s a long story. But she’s with Molly. And they’re okay. You don’t have to worry about them.”

“Oh.” Arthur exhaled, relieved. “But they’re– they’re safe?”

“Yeah.” Charles smiled softly at him, cupping his face. “They’re safe.”

Charles continued walking, but when he turned towards a large tent, Arthur stopped dead in his tracks yet again. 

“Is this yours?”

Charles glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, but then sheepishly turned his head towards the tent. “Well… I was hoping it’d be ours.” 

He opened the flap for Arthur and let him get in. Arthur’s things were all in there, and a sleeping spot for the two of them was set up, but it looked unused. 

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t actually sleep here without you,” Charles murmured, interpreting Arthur’s questioning glance correctly. “But I wanted it to be ready when you’re back.”

His voice was shaking and Arthur felt tears well up in his eyes again. He wrapped his arms around Charles and hugged him as tightly as his weakened body would let him. Charles placed his hand on the back of Arthur’s head, burying his face in the crook of his neck, and sighed deeply. 

“Do you want to get cleaned up? Or rather just go to sleep?”

“I don’t… I don’t think I can sleep right now.”

Charles nodded, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “Alright. Just give me a moment, then. I’ll go get–”

He turned to leave, but Arthur grabbed onto his arm, fingernails digging in firmer than he’d intended.

“Don’t–” He stopped himself, taking a moment to breathe and trying to control his volume. “Don’t leave.”

Charles looked surprised at his reaction, but his eyes softened and he stepped closer again, touching Arthur’s face. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Arthur shook his head. He felt silly, but the thought of Charles as much as leaving his sight filled him with dread. “I’ll– I’ll come.”

Charles nodded. He took Arthur’s hand and pressed a kiss against his knuckles before he held open the flap with his free hand and let Arthur duck through the exit before he followed. 

Arthur sat down on the log by the fire while Charles fluttered around, gathering the things he needed, turning around to meet Arthur’s eyes and check if he was alright every couple of seconds. He handed Arthur a few tins to carry back to the tipi while he carried a large bowl that he had filled with boiled water. 

Back inside the tent, Charles told Arthur to sit down on the large trunk that had his clothes inside. He set the bowl down on the ground and placed the lamp next to it. He undid the few remaining buttons of Arthur’s shirt and helped him slip out of the sleeves before tossing it aside. His face tightened as he looked at the bandage that was wrapped around him, and he gently placed his hand against his side. 

Arthur reached out for Charles, just feeling the need to touch him, to make sure that he was really here. Charles leaned his face into his touch, turning his head to press a kiss against his palm. 

“Charles…” Arthur whispered hoarsely. “You don’t have to–”

“It’s okay, Arthur.” Charles leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “Just let me take care of you.”

Arthur didn’t have the will or the energy to put up a front. He nodded and closed his eyes, leaning into Charles’ touch. 

“What do you wanna do about your hair?” Charles asked him, touching the matted strands. 

Arthur sighed tiredly. “Just… just cut it off, I guess.”

“Okay.” Charles let go of Arthur’s hair and placed his hand against his cheek for a moment. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. 

When he heard Charles stand up, Arthur opened his eyes to look at him, but he only walked a few steps to get the things he needed to cut Arthur’s hair. He placed Arthur’s shirt on the ground behind him, so it’d catch the hair he’d cut off. 

“You still gonna like me when I have short hair again?” Arthur asked Charles when he cut off the first piece.

“It’s gonna be difficult, but I think I’ll manage.” Charles chuckled, leaning closer to press a kiss on Arthur’s lips.

Arthur closed his eyes again, enjoying the feeling of Charles’ touches as he worked through Arthur’s hair in silence. 

“That doesn’t look too bad,” he said eventually. “Might have to clean it up a little tomorrow in the daylight.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“What about your beard?” Charles asked, tugging at it gently. “Just clean it up a little?”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

When Charles finished with his beard as well, he folded up the shirt to catch as much of the hair inside of it as possible and put it aside. He put the cloth into the warm water and wrung it out before he started to wash him.

Charles worked his way down Arthur’s body, taking off his dirty clothes and thoroughly cleaning him up, even scraping out the dirt from under Arthur’s fingernails. He was careful around his sunburn, staying clear of the worst spots, but where he could he pressed firmly against the tense muscles in Arthur’s shoulders and his back, massaging until they loosened and Arthur relaxed. 

By the end, the water had gone cold and when Arthur opened his eyes, he saw that it was dark and cloudy from all the dirt and blood. Charles wrung out the cloth and placed it on the edge of the bowl. 

“That was… that was really nice,” Arthur said sheepishly. 

“I missed you so much, Arthur.” A pained expression came over Charles’ face. He leaned his head against Arthur’s shoulder, kissing his bare skin. “I was… I was terrified you might’ve– I couldn’t even think about it.”

“I’m so sorry, Charles,” he whispered hoarsely. “I– I never should’ve left.”

Charles shook his head. “That’s not– that’s– I’m not trying to make you feel guilty for the decisions you made. I just…” He kissed him softly. “God, I missed you so much.”

  


They settled into the sleeping spot, and Arthur moved in close to Charles, shifting carefully until he could wrap his arm around Charles’ waist and bury his face against his chest without the wound in his stomach hurting.

“You want the lamp on?” Charles asked. 

“You can turn it off.”

Charles reached over to extinguish the lamp and then wrapped his arm around Arthur and tipped his head so he could press a kiss against his forehead.

Charles’ heart was beating a steady rhythm against Arthur’s ear and his chest was rising and falling with even breaths. In the darkness, Arthur could see blurry memories flitting past his mind’s eye. 

“Charles?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me this is real.” Arthur’s voice was barely able to get past the lump in his throat. His fingers tensed against Charles’ chest and he turned his head slightly, breathing in his scent.

“It’s real.” Charles reached out for Arthur’s hand and wrapped his fingers around it. “You’re back with me.”

Arthur exhaled slowly, trying to calm down his erratic pulse. Charles stroked his back with long, slow movements, leaning his cheek against the top of Arthur’s head. 

“I’m never going to let you out of my sight again, I hope you realise that,” he murmured. 

Arthur chuckled. “I think I could imagine worse.”

  


* * *

  


They fell silent again, and Arthur’s breath evened out, his body relaxing. But as his thoughts started to drift, he suddenly found himself floating, tossed around by currents he had no chance against, his lungs screaming for air that would not reach them.

He snapped into a sitting position with a gasp, a loud curse following immediately after when a sharp pain shot through his upper body from his bullet wound. 

“Arthur? Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Charles rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. “What’s going on?”

It was as if a dam had broken, more and more memories came flooding back. Most of them still blurry, more emotions than actual events. He twisted his body so he could bury his face in the crook of Charles’ neck, ignoring the sharp bolt of pain that shot through him. He tried to force himself to stop crying, but the tears kept flowing. 

“Charles,” he choked out. “I– I lost your tomahawk.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Charles hugged him firmly, pressing kisses against his face. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

Arthur buried himself deeper in the embrace, but despite Charles’ best attempts at soothing him, his body continued to be shaken by sobs.

“You– you said it was your favourite.”

“The only thing that matters is that you’re here with me right now. Don’t worry about the tomahawk.”

Arthur lifted his face, desperately pressing his lips against Charles’. “It’s gone,” he whispered. “Somewhere at the– at the bottom of the ocean.” He shuddered; it was as if he could feel the waves crash over him. “I lost the deer too.” He could feel another sob build in his chest, breaking free before he could do anything about it. “I lost it all.”

“I’ll make you a new one.” Charles pressed a kiss against his forehead. “First thing tomorrow morning, okay? It’s gonna be alright, Arthur. It’s gonna be alright.” 

  


* * *

  


It took a couple of days for Arthur to really arrive both in body and mind. His bullet wound was doing better fast with Kimimela’s care, but for almost a week, he wasn’t able to sleep without a special tea that she made that knocked him out cold. 

He listened in a few times when Javier or Bill were retelling what happened on Guarma and although Charles always looked worried when he did, Arthur could eventually piece together most of it, even though he was still missing a lot of memories. 

Dutch was recovering slowly but surely as well. His fever finally broke for the last time, and he soon started to take smaller walks around the reservation. 

While at least there seemed to be some sort of stalemate between everyone and Dutch until he was better, most of the gang was still a little reserved around him. – Including Arthur. He wasn’t sure what things would be like between them from here on out – he didn’t think it could ever go back to the way it had been – but with his own recovery taking up all of his energy, he hadn’t been able to sort his own feelings out yet. 

Hosea was by Dutch’s side nearly the whole time, though. Arthur was sure that there was still a lot to work through for the two of them too, but he was grateful that Hosea was able to take care of Dutch despite it all. Even with his conflicted feelings about him at the moment, he wouldn’t have wanted Dutch to have to go through this alone. 

He avoided talking about Dutch with Charles. Even though Charles was as cordial to Dutch as anyone else, there was still a lot of anger. Especially on days where Arthur wasn’t doing so well, if looks could kill, Dutch would’ve dropped dead a hundred times over. 

  


Sadie and Molly were still gone; Charles had written a letter for them to let them know that Arthur, Dutch, Javier and Bill were back, but they probably wouldn’t have received it yet. Arthur wondered how they were doing, where they had gone, if they’d come back at all. He wasn’t sure they would. And, hell, he couldn’t blame them. But still, he missed them. 

“Here.” Charles’ voice tore him out of his thoughts as he walked up behind Arthur and handed him one of the mugs of coffee he was holding, placing his now free hand on the small of Arthur’s back. 

“Thank you.”

Charles plucked an already rolled cigarette from behind his ears and lit it before offering it to Arthur, who gladly took it. 

“How are you feeling?” Charles asked him then, eyeing him closely. Arthur shrugged, his movements still feeling a little sluggish. While the tea that Kimimela gave him did allow him to sleep through the night, it made waking up a struggle every day. He didn’t think he’d put up with it much longer. 

“I don’t think I’m fully awake yet.” Arthur took another sip of coffee, hoping he’d feel better once he’d finished it.

“Well, it’s still early.” Charles smiled at him across the edge of his own cup of coffee, the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes deepening.

It was true; the sun was barely up. There was still some fog creeping across the ground and in between the trees along the forest’s edge, but it seemed to dissipate and it looked like it’d be a sunny day today. 

They finished their coffees in silence before they went to eat some breakfast. Not everyone was awake yet, but it was slowly getting busier. 

“So, you think you’re fully awake now?” Charles asked him a few hours later, close to noon. 

Arthur nodded, not missing the glint in Charles’ eyes, and questioningly raised an eyebrow.

“And? How are you feeling? You think you’re up for a ride?” Charles grinned secretively, and Arthur didn’t even have it in him to _pretend_ to be annoyed. 

“Sure,” he said. “Maybe, uh, maybe not for an overnight stay though,” he added with a frown.

Charles shook his head. “Not this time. You ready to go?”

Arthur grabbed his satchel – a borrowed one for now, since his was somewhere at the bottom of the sea – and followed Charles. 

They didn’t ride far, maybe two or three hours. The region looked vaguely familiar – they must be near Cumberland Forest. 

Charles was in a good mood, he was whistling an uplifting tune. Arthur found himself looking more at Charles than where they were going, both of them smiling at each other whenever their eyes met. 

“We can put our horses over there,” Charles said, pointing a little further ahead.

They dismounted and hitched their horses to a pair of trees and Charles shouldered his bag, leading Arthur a little further up the mountain. 

“In there?” Arthur asked doubtfully when he saw Charles steering towards the entrance of a cave.

“It’s not far.”

Arthur hesitated; he’d stopped walking a couple of steps behind Charles and he warily watched him light a lamp, eyes flickering back and forth between Charles and the cave.

Charles held out his hand, offering it to Arthur with an encouraging smile. “It’ll be worth it, I promise. And I’m right here with you. I won’t let go.”

Arthur chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, but then took Charles’ hand, holding tightly onto it as they entered the cave. 

Charles held the lamp in front of them, leading the way.

“You alright?” he asked Arthur when he squeezed his hand tighter. 

“Long as you tell me, it’s not much further.”

“It’s not. And – oh, look, you can see it already! There’s daylight. We won’t be in the dark.”

Arthur sighed, relieved when the tunnel opened into a wide cave with a large opening at the ceiling, allowing it to be flooded with daylight. Charles tugged him another few steps forwards and Arthur’s eyes fell on the springs in front of them. 

“Hot springs?” he asked when he saw the steam rising above the water.

Charles nodded. “I was out riding one night and got caught up in a storm. Went to take shelter in this cave and found this. There’s more a little further north. Cotorra Springs, maybe you’ve seen them before.”

“Oh, right. Of course. I knew the area looked familiar.”

“So, what do you say? Can I convince you to take a dip with me?”

Arthur stepped closer to the large spring, staring down into the blackness. It looked endlessly deep and Arthur felt his chest constrict.

“Not in there. Come over here.” Charles waved him over to where he was standing. Arthur had to climb up over a few rocks, but there, a little higher up, was what looked like a small basin, the water pooling in there before it streamed down into the larger basin below. 

“What do you say?” 

“Yeah. That looks nice. Not as terrifying as the other one.”

Charles stripped off his clothes and stepped into the water, holding out a hand to support Arthur getting in. There was a small ledge that Charles was sitting on, just barely broad enough for the two of them to sit next to each other. Arthur sank down on it with a deep sigh, the edge of the water reaching to his chest. 

“This is incredible.” He leaned his head back, looking up at the blue sky through the open ceiling. There were only a few lone clouds passing by above them.

Charles pressed a kiss against Arthur’s shoulder while running his hand up along his back, and Arthur felt goosebumps spread across his arms, despite the warm water. He turned his head to kiss Charles; his eyes fluttered shut, and he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling until they broke the kiss, dizzy and out of breath. 

“Do you… do you think we’ll be okay?” Arthur asked quietly. He didn’t want to ruin a nice afternoon, but at the same time their situation was weighing heavily on him – and on Charles too, he imagined. 

“We have to be.” Charles nodded, but he looked like he was trying to convince himself of his words as much as Arthur. “And we _will_ be. We’ll find a way.”

“Hopefully one that doesn’t involve Tahiti,” Arthur groaned. “I’ve had my fill of tropical islands.”

Charles laughed softly, leaning closer to kiss him again. “We’ll go west,” he murmured against Arthur’s lips. “Just like you wanted to.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Arthur sighed, shaking his head lightly. “No way in hell we can make it through Blackwater.”

“We’ll find a way,” Charles said firmly. “Maybe we’ll have to bide our time. Wait a while. But we’ll find a way. And we’ll make it.” 

Arthur smiled at him, deciding to let the subject rest for now, and instead reached out to run his fingers across the stubbly hair on the side of Charles’ head. Charles leaned into the touch, smiling back at him before he pulled Arthur closer to kiss him. 

Arthur ran his hand down Charles’ body, his lips wandering lower as well, kissing and sucking his neck, enjoying the small gasps and groans he elicited from him. Charles shifted his position, so he could straddle Arthur’s lap and kissed him deeply. Arthur moaned against his lips, running his hands down Charles’ back, across his ass and down his thighs, feeling the firm muscles against his palms. He wrapped his hand around their erections, pressing them against each other, eliciting a moan from both of them. 

He started moving his hand slowly; the walls around them reverberating the sound of Charles’ moan as he arched his back. Arthur bit his bottom lip, moving his free hand from Charles’ thigh to his chest, running his thumb across Charles’ nipple and feeling it harden under his touch. 

Charles buried his fingers in Arthur’s hair – it was now just barely long enough for him to get a good grip – and pulled his head back, kissing him greedily. Arthur felt Charles’ thighs tense at his sides, the movements of his hips became more urgent and he cried out Arthur’s name as he came. The feeling of his cock twitching against Arthur’s own pushed him closer to the edge, and he jerked his hand a few more times roughly before his own climax followed. 

Arthur sank against the rock behind him, Charles still straddling him with his arms around his shoulders, braced on the edge of the spring. He was leaning his head on Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur had placed his on Charles’. Having Charles wrapped all around him was nice… comfortable. Safe. 

  


Arthur dozed off for a little while until he awoke when Charles moved off his lap. A discontented grumble escaped his mouth before he could stop himself, earning a soft chuckle and a kiss from Charles. 

“Let’s get out of the water,” he said, taking Arthur’s hand. “Before we shrivel up even more.”

He helped Arthur step out of the spring and pulled a blanket from his bags, placing it in a sunny spot. 

“You hungry? I brought some food.”

Arthur shook his head and lay down on his back, placing his head on his bent arm. “Maybe later.”

He closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle warmth of the sunrays, nowhere close to the scorching sun on Guarma. A shadow darkened the light behind his closed lids and he opened his eyes, peering up at Charles who was leaning over him, looking down at him with a soft smile on his lips. 

“Don’t stay in the sun too long,” he said, running a finger down the middle of Arthur’s chest until it reached his navel. “Just until you’re dry. I don’t want you to get burned again.”

Arthur nodded, but then snatched Charles’ hand when he started tickling the line of hair leading down from his belly button. “What are you doing?” he laughed. 

Charles laughed, leaning down to kiss him. He twisted his hand, still in Arthur’s grip, until he could intertwine their fingers. 

“Charles?”

Worry flashed across Charles’ face when Arthur’s voice suddenly turned serious, but Arthur reached up to touch his face gently. He was overrun with emotions and his throat felt tight, but he wouldn’t allow himself to miss another chance. 

“I love you.” Arthur’s voice was hoarse, the words barely audible, but Charles’ lips widened in a bright smile before he leaned down and kissed Arthur passionately.

“I love you, too,” he murmured against Arthur’s lips before closing the distance between them again. 

  


* * *

  


“Feels like it did when we left the camping spot by that little pond.” Arthur looked over his shoulder, watching the entrance to the cave get obscured by bushes and trees as they walked further away. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember that.” Charles squeezed his hand. “You think I’d forget the first time we kissed?”

Arthur laughed, squeezing Charles’ hand in return. They didn’t have a lot of time left until the sun would set, but it was really nice around here, so they had decided to walk for a little while, leading their horses on the reins. 

“Do you think all of us will stay together?” Arthur pondered out loud. “After everything that happened?”

“I don’t know. I guess it depends where we’ll go. What we’ll do.”

Arthur sighed. “If there’s even anywhere left for us to go.”

“What would you want to do? If we could go anywhere, do anything.”

“Honestly? I… I think I’d like to settle down somewhere for good.” Arthur glanced at Charles, but then turned his head again, letting his eyes wander across the trees along the side of the road. “Have a home. Not be on the run anymore. – I know that was the plan with Tahiti, but…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. That never felt real to me. Neither does this, I guess. It just… doesn’t feel possible. Not after everything that has happened.”

“It didn’t feel possible that you’d come back. I didn’t… I didn’t want to believe you could’ve...” Charles’ voice shook and gave up. “Nobody _wanted_ to think that. But… the more days passed, the more it felt like I was clinging onto something impossible just because I couldn’t face the much more likely possibility. But… here you are. You came back. You’re alive.” Charles squeezed his hand, raising it to his face and pressing a kiss on the back of Arthur’s hand. “If the ocean couldn’t take you out, what can the Pinkertons do?”

“Well, last I checked, the ocean don’t have guns.”

Despite the pessimistic words, both of them burst out laughing. 

“Evelyn Miller might be able to help us,” Charles said when they both calmed down again. “Or maybe he knows somebody in Saint Denis that could.”

“You think he’d want to? Helping a bunch of outlaws ain’t exactly the same as helping the Indians. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Well, that’s true. But it might be worth a try. Maybe if we send Dutch to meet him. Meeting his biggest fan might put him in a good mood.”

“So you’d be alright if Dutch stayed with us?” Arthur didn’t want to ask the question, but he knew he had to. 

“Is that what you want?” Charles asked back.

“I’m not sure,” Arthur answered honestly. “But I don’t think I’d want him out of my life completely.”

“If having Dutch with us is what makes you happy, then I’m alright with it.” Charles reached out to squeeze his hand.

“What about _your_ happiness? I don’t want you to be around somebody you hate just for me.”

“I don’t…” Charles sighed. “I don’t _hate_ Dutch,” he said, although he didn’t sound fully convinced of his own words. “I am… disappointed in him. I’m angry at him. But I don’t plan on holding onto that anger forever. Especially not if having him in your life is important to you.”

Arthur nodded, running his thumb across the back of Charles’ hand. The two of them fell silent for a moment, both of them lost in their own thoughts. 

“I’m not so sure Evelyn Miller would be excited about meeting a big fan of his,” he said then in reference to Charles’ earlier words, thinking back to the party at the mayor’s house in Saint Denis, where he’d met Mr. Miller for the first time. 

“No?”

“I think he’s… well, he seemed to have some reservations when I recognised him as the writer.”

Charles hummed pensively and nodded. “Another way, then. We’ll find something.”

Arthur stopped walking, tugging on Charles’ hand so he’d turn around towards him. “Do you really believe it’s possible? Or are you just saying all that ‘cause you don’t want me to worry?”

“A little of both.” Charles tugged at Arthur’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

“That’s no answer.”

“I know it won’t be easy,” Charles said as he continued walking. “I know it _might_ be impossible. But if we don’t believe that we can do it, then all’s already lost.”

Arthur pondered over his words for a few minutes while they walked in silence. “So, what are we gonna do when we settle down?” he asked Charles then, trying to show him that was getting on board with what he’d said. “Farm?”

Charles smiled at him. “That’d be nice. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. We could get cows.”

“Maybe some goats.”

Arthur grimaced. “No.”

“No?” Charles cocked an eyebrow, surprised.

“There’s this nasty goat in Lagras. Went there to buy some bait for fishing once and it knocked me on my ass.”

Charles laughed loudly, startling both of their horses before he put his hand in front of his mouth to quieten himself. “I would’ve _loved_ to see that. What’d you do? Shoot it?”

“Of course not. Probably belongs to some family there.”

“But you wanted to.”

“Oh, definitely. Wanted to eat it for dinner.”

Charles laughed again. “Alright then,” he said eventually, a little out of breath. “No goats. Sheep? Pigs?”

“Anything but goats.” Arthur rolled his eyes fondly when Charles snickered again. “What about fields?” he asked to change the subject. “Wheat?”

“Yeah, maybe. We should definitely have a large vegetable garden.”

“We should get a few more chickens again, too. We only have two left. Jack’s real sad about it.” 

Arthur pictured the boy chasing chickens around with a handful of seeds, just like he’d done so often, but instead of some run-down camp or next to the ruin of Shady Belle, there was a beautiful farmhouse in the background. A _home_. 

“We should probably mount up soon,” Charles said and stopped walking. “Else we’ll be out all night.”

“You’re right.” Arthur agreed, but neither of them moved just yet. Arthur’s eyes followed Charles’ gaze, looking up at the sky, glowing orange and pink between the treetops. “It’s gonna have to be a big farm if we get all those animals,” he said then. His eyes moved away from the sky and he looked at Charles instead, reaching out and squeezing his hand.

Charles smiled and turned to look at him too, squeezing back. “We’re a big family, aren’t we?” 

Arthur pressed a soft kiss on Charles’ lips, before he leaned back again so he could look at him. Although he knew the road they had ahead of them wouldn’t be an easy one, as Arthur looked at Charles, his gentle smile, his dark eyes so full of warmth and love… the whole world felt wide open. 


End file.
